Haunt
by wrestlefan4
Summary: Matt Hardy, Jeff Hardy, Glenn Jacobs, Adam Copeland, Christian Cage, and Chris Jericho are six college students rooming together. When eerie things start to happen, they wonder if they're being haunted. If so, by what...or...whom? For Halloween!
1. Chapter 1

_**Halloween fic. Bwaha. Enjoy!**_

**ONE**

Fall had seemed to come early that year, even though it was only just September. On campus students spilled over the dying grass as it crunched underfoot, and kicked crisp, fiery leaves over the side walk, smeared with chalk greetings for the freshmen. Disgruntled fathers dragged bags and suitcases up to cramped dorm rooms. Moms unpacked, for the last time fussing over children they still didn't want to christen adults, and let go of. Eyes rolled as tight hugs were latched around necks and tears seeped into t-shirt fabric. Thoughts of being punted out into college life veered from lingering on their over emotional mothers to thoughts of girls, or guys, and where the best bars might be and how many rounds of beer pong they might be able to play before losing consciousness, waking up, and realizing they should have been in English 101. Although, on the first day, no one ever does anything in class anyway.

Further down, a couple blocks from campus, rows of regal looking homes lined a street scattered with leaves, and parked cars under white sycamore trees. From balconies and over doors hung banners proclaiming frat houses, Greek letters beacons to a never ending party. Students nicknamed this stretch of prized property 'Frat Farm'. It was in this part of the city where all the big old once proud Victorian homes still resided. However, years ago they'd been usurped by college life, and mutated into frat, sorority, and rental properties swarmed with twenty-somethings who were getting educations in how to show up in class and not look _too_ hung over, or how to get a girl to follow you to bed in less than .5 seconds, and how to cram weeks of studying into the early morning hours right before a day filled with finals.

"Energy drinks, and beer." Glenn said, patting Jeff on the shoulder. "Your best friends."

"Don't corrupt my little brother!" Matt, the dark haired one driving the car through 'Frat Farm' shouted, wagging his finger at his friend in the back seat. Glenn smirked, his eyes glistening, as he reached over and pulled a curl of Matts' hair.

Glenn was the oldest of the group, a grad student in Political Science, getting through school on a basketball scholarship, although the way he was built made him seem more suited to football. He'd thought about switching to football, but the basketball coaches had all but begged him to stay on the team. After all, as it stood currently, Jacobs held the highest field goal percentage for a single season, along with leading his team in blocks and rebounds again and again. He loved sports only as much as he loved politics, which was saying a lot. Although there was one thing that was currently creeping up the ranks and settling with those two: annoying Matt Hardys' little freshmen brother.

"If I don't corrupt him, then Adam will. He's worse than I am." Glenn shot back at Matt. Adam turned in his seat, which was next to Matt the driver, and laid fiery blue eyes into Glenn. He held onto the pissed glare for a moment, before he dropped it and bobbled his head, his usual cocky grin spreading over his face.

"I'm the worst of the worst, chump stain!" Adam leered. Adam Copeland, the embodiment of cockiness. No one really knew what he was there for. He changed his major as often as he changed his underwear. Well, maybe more often than that. It was the consensus of the group that Adam was in college for one purpose only: party. He was the first one to pop a beer (and wood), the last one to leave the party (always with a couple of girls or guys on his arm, maybe one of each just for variety), the undisputed champ of virtually every drinking game ever thought of (and every sex game), and reportedly, he was also the guy who streaked through the football field last year at homecoming. His brother was sleeping in the seat behind him, his mouth slightly open, hands crumpled in his lap, although he was about to be awoken, because Adam and Glenn were ribbing one another.

"Cocksucker!"

"Reject!"

Adam leaned out of his seat, and spit his gum in Glenns' direction. Instead it hit Christian who as usual had been sound asleep. You just couldn't put him in the car without him falling asleep. The moment the damn car started, he was out. Other than snoring in vehicles, Christian was known as Adams brother and partner in crime, and the man most likely to be squashed by Glenn for being a total annoyance.

"Who did that!" Christian growled, jerking his head around and glaring holes into each man. Matt chewed his lips to hold back laughter, Glenn crossed his muscled arms over his wide chest, and starred from under his brow, and then Christians' gaze fell onto Jeff, who surged forwards in his seat, bugging his eyes at the glowering blond.

"Boo!" Jeff spat, already disliking Christian. "Creepy little bastard." He added, curling up in his seat with his knees under his chin.

"Me? I'm not the freak in the black shit, and rainbow fag looking-"

"Hey! Enough." Glenn grabbed Christians' shoulder and shoved him back into his seat. Christian plucked the big hand away and snarled.

"Keep your filthy hands away from me, Baldzilla. Who knows what they've touched."

"Then sit down and shut the fuck up!"

"Guys!" Matt managed to shout over everyone else. "Lay off my brother."

Jeff smiled sweetly. Christian rolled his eyes and grumbled, and Glenn ran a hand over his shaved head—naked of hair because of a bet he'd lost to his half-brother which had required him to shave off his long, auburn, tresses.

Matt pulled the car up to the curb, and stopped it. Everyone spilled out. Adam and Christian took off at a competitive sprint towards the house they group had managed to snag this year. Glenn shook his head and popped the trunk of the car to drag out his bags, as Matt and Jeff congregated near the curb, talking in low tones.

"I don't like it Matty. I could have just stayed in a dorm, or me and you could have got our own place together. That's what we should have done." Jeff said, watching Matts' face closely. "I don't like any of your friends." Jeff pouted and took one of Matts' hands in his and gently traced a fingertip over the knuckles. Matt laughed, and squeezed his brothers' shoulder.

"Just give the idiots some time Jeff. You'll like it, I promise."

Matt moved Jeff out of the way and went to the trunk to grab some things. Jeff moped, and dug the toe of his shoe into the soft ground. He sniffed, and the strong scents of autumn tickled his nose. The only reason he'd agreed to this in the first place was because he didn't want to be separated from his brother. The first two years Matt had been gone away to college had all but killed him, and now that he was enrolled at the same school, he was not going to be separated from his brother.

"Here Jeff." Matt grunted, shoving a bag into Jeffs' arms. Paintbrushes and tubes of paint overflowed from the stuffed messenger bag. "Sorry." Matt offered as Jeff bent to pick up the fallen objects. Matt grabbed one of the brushes and stuck it behind Jeffs' ear. With that and his paint-splattered jeans, he looked all the part of an eccentric art student and budding starving artist, completely opposite of his older brother who could not draw a straight line, nor was he interested in learning too. Matts' classes involved a lot less abstract thinking and more boring things like numbers and formulas or something—Jeff wasn't even sure what the hell was involved in engineering. Whatever it was, Matt was welcome to it.

Jeff shouldered his bag and tagged after his brother. They both entered the house together.

"I could do a kickass mural on that wall." Jeff said, already plotting it out in his mind. He narrowed his eyes, envisioning the colors and patterns unfolding, unfurling, winding and mingling into something that would be—_blood._ With a whimper, Jeff staggered back and pressed his palm to his forehead. Matt spun around, his brown eyes wide, immediately concerned.

"Jeff?" He took the bag from his brothers' shoulder and tossed it over towards the couch.

"I…I'm okay Matty. Headache." His emerald eyes steadied on his brothers, and held the gaze until Matts' worry melted away and he nodded his head, and pointed Jeff upstairs where the bedrooms were. Adam passed Jeff, flying down the stairs, yelling like a banshee, to which Jeff flipped him the bird with a chipped, black-painted nail. Adam vaulted over the stair banister, and landed on both feet, near Matt. He grabbed the guys shoulders and shook him.

"Dude! We're gonna have some killer bashes in this place!" He slapped Matts' chest and pulled out a pack of gum, offered a piece to Matt, and then started chomping on one again. "This is gonna be the hottest place, for in your face, par-tay!"

"Adam, don't go planning your orgies just yet." Matt shook his head. "We have to at least wait until Ken gets here." He laughed, shoving Adam playfully. The blond let out a cheer and ran into the kitchen where Glenn was pacing with his cell phone to his ear, and pounced on the big guy. He got snarled at and batted away. Adam pouted, and placed himself on the countertop, leaning back on his elbows like he was posing for a girly mag.

"He's not coming." Glenn sighed as Matt came into the kitchen toting more luggage and boxes. Matt stacked a couple boxes on the countertop, next to Adam, who gave him a silly wink.

"Ken? What do you mean he's not coming? Without a sixth guy we can't afford to live here." Matt drew his hand across his brow, and wiped away a sheen of sweat. Glenn slipped his phone into his jeans pocket. The look on his face was unsettling and painfully somber.

"Accident Anderson won't be making any appearances back here."

"What!"

Glenn nodded dully.

"I guess he and Randy were goofing around with that wrestling stuff they do for that gay-ass nowhere promotion they're in, and he nearly killed himself with some stunt. Ken was climbing on some homemade steel cage thing, and when Randy started to go up after him, apparently the whole damn thing collapsed. Ken...Matt…I'm sorry man."

A veil of silence fell over the room. Ken was Matts' best friend, and sometimes more. The dark haired man felt suddenly numb, and Christian walked into the room just in time to steady him as the shock rushed over him. Glenn pulled a chair away from the table, and Christian lowered Matt into it.

"Well," Adam began as he slid off the counter. "I guess we'll have to put in an ad for a new roommate."

~*~

"That's it!" Paul's deep, mammoth, voice boomed through the tiny room. "I can't take living with you for another moment!"

Chris screwed his face into a scowl, and stood toe-to-toe with the giant. He upturned his face, his cobalt eyes crossing and making his angered expression seem all most comical and hard to take serious.

"And I can't take it either." He growled, his voice an annoyed monotone. Paul snorted laughter, as if the arrogant, 5'10", blond scared any of his 7' huge frame. An enormous hand descended on Jerichos' face and he was pushed backwards roughly, sent sprawling to the floor. Paul laughed again and simply stepped over him in one long stride, and tossed one of Chris' suitcase and his stack of unused books out into the hallway. Followed by Chris himself. The door was slammed, and the indignant blond spent about ten minutes banging on it, raving, at the kind of treatment he had received. The door opened again, if only for a moment, to throw out a trash bag full of Chris' clothes and his guitar, which bonked noisily off the floor. The door slammed again, and Chris pulled his lips back in snarl.

"I was gonna leave anyway." He snipped, and started to pick his things up.

He got it all together and sauntered to the end of the hall where the R.A. was. When he poked his head in, the guy wasn't there. He lugged his stuff down to the commons where students bustled, their conversations all loud and mixed together, like droning bees. He dropped it all in front of a bulletin board and looked over the things tacked up there—jobs, books for sale, parties, campus events, and in the corner a flyer seeking a roommate. Chris committed the address to memory and bummed a ride from some guy named Helms who he'd met in one of his classes. Helms dumped him out in front of the address, a big white house with a wrap-around porch, not kept in the best condition, but it sure as hell would be better than a tiny dorm room with a giant snoring in the bunk under you. Not to mention, it had the feeling of a great place to party.

"Yeah?"

And the dark haired man who came to the door was a handsome devil. Chris put on his most charming smile and flicked his eyes discretely over the form of the guy as he stepped outside—wearing sweat pants and shirtless.

"Hi, Chris Jericho." He extended his hand and the guy yawned and took it for a moment. His hands felt nice, even. "So, you guys still need a roommate?" _Please say yes!_

"Yeah. We--"

"Not any more!" Chris announced, swaggering past Matt, and into the house where he dumped his bags. "Feels like home already."

Matt closed the door, shaking his head. This guy was certainly not shy. He was a little unsure though, he imagined this Chris guy and Glenn butting heads immediately, and that was already Christians job and it was crazy enough as it was. But there was something about Chris that Matt already liked, and maybe the fact that they'd had the add out for two months already with no one answering it, and they had barely been able to scrape up enough money to pay those two months of rent and utilities as it was. This month had been looking even meeker since Adam got fired from his job for 'flirting too much' which was Copeland code for 'sexual harassment'.

"So, you have a job?" Matt asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"Of course, ass-clown. Gotta buy beer, right?"

Matt smirked. Chris would fit in for sure.

"The extra room is upstairs, last on the right. I guess that's about it. Everybody else will be back later. We can all go out or something." Matt shrugged, and watched Chris as he climbed the stairs, his dark eyes trying to avoid the way his backside swayed nicely.

Chris found the extra room and dumped his stuff on the floor. He pulled some clothes out of the trash bag Paul had stuffed them in and sniffed one of the shirts under the arm pits, trying to figure out if it was dirty or clean. After a few more indecisive sniffs, he shrugged, and folded it up in a dresser that was in the room.

He had it mostly finished when a shiver raced up his spine and he felt the eerie sensation of eyes watching. He got up from where he knelt at the dresser and spun around with a pair of underwear in his hand and started to put them away when a loud creak sounded from behind him. He spun around on his heel, and dropped the briefs, they flopped over the toe of his shoe. It was only one of the guys standing in the doorway, although the way the young man was watching him—with stony green eyes—had him feeling a bit uneasy which was something that happened rarely.

"Who are you?" The young man asked flatly, his severe gaze never leaving as he tracked Chris' movements around the room. The blond put up the last piece of clothing and went to the man blocking his door.

"Chris Jericho. I just moved in."

The guy with the rainbow streaked hair made no answer, only narrowed his eyes, and pressed his lips into a tight line.

"Oh hey." Matt appeared in the doorway and hung his arm over Jeffs' shoulders. The young mans' eyes immediately soften and his lips morphed into a warm smile. "Chris, this my brother Jeff." Matt explained, play punching the smaller man in the arm.

"Nice to meet ya." Jeff said pleasantly, and patted Chris' shoulder.

The blond was taken aback at first at the shift in his character, but maybe it was just that his brother made him feel more comfortable. Chris shrugged the cold impression away and the three of them went back downstairs laughing, and talking.

Later, Adam, Christian, and Glenn all made it home and the six of them went out and hit a couple of bars. The other five seemed to click so well together, their friendship easy—even the way Glenn and Christian seemed to annoy the hell out of each other had a friendship about it—and soon Chris found himself fitting right in. The night concluded with Adam challenging him to shots, which he readily accepted, proclaiming with an arrogant, lopsided smirk that he had never been beaten, to which Adam bobbled his head and matched his claim. Soon Matt, Jeff, Christian, and Glenn were all gathered around the two blonds spurring them on as they emptied the tiny glasses and overturned them on the table to keep track.

The competition was fierce, insults of 'chump-stain, cum-sock, ass-clown, hypocrite, and parasite, and more jokingly traded between the two and slurred as more and more glasses became empty numbers on the tabletop. Soon there was a combined army of about forty or so shot glasses lined up as though ready to do war with each other, in neat little battalions. Chris was practically laying on the table, mumbling incoherently, and occasionally belting out some piece of a song or another. Adam swayed on his stool and nearly fell off a couple of times. On one side of him was Glenn, on the other Christian, and they kept pushing him back upright when he'd sway towards one and then the other. Jeff kept watch from his perch on his own stool where he nursed a beer and occasionally threw in a few cheers for Adam, or reached over and clapped his shoulder.

"Guys, come on it's late let's just call it a draw and go home." Glenn suggested, laughing when Chris reached for another shot glass and knocked it over with slow, clumsy fingers.

"He spilt hissdrink…ah win…stump-chain." Adam slurred, and slumped towards Christian. His brother straightened him up again as he started to hiccup, his eyes rolling glassily.

"You doan win…I'm goin…strong. Innot drunkitall! Crypatit…hypo—hypo…hippiepotamus-tache. Mustache…" Chris burst out in laughter that had tears streaming down his face. "Hippo-mustache-otamus."

"I think we should get out of here." Christian shook his head as he watched Chris topple off his bar stool, Matt not catching him in time.

"Ha!" Adam shouted as Glenn tried to help Adam down from his stool. "I fruggin' win!"

"Glenn, I don't think he can stand." Christian laughed as he watched his brothers' head lull from side to side. Glenn knelt.

"Adam, wrap your arms around my neck." He instructed, as Matt struggled to get Chris up off the floor. Adam somehow made his arms comply with Glenns' instruction, and Glenn stood, pulling Adams' legs around his waist and tucking his arms under Adam's knees so he was hanging on piggy back style, his head laying on Glenns' shoulder.

"How cute Glenn. I always knew you wanted my brother to ride you." Christian sneered.

"Creepy little bastard, why don't you go help Hardy with the lump on the floor." Glenn shot back, shifting Adam a little.

Christian and Matt got Chris up and propped him up on their shoulders. Glenn headed towards the car and after slapping Chris' cheeks, they got him to at least drag his feet a little so they could follow. They dumped Chris in the back seat next to Glenn who had Adam on his lap in the middle, and was flanked on the other side by Christian. Jeff was shotgun, always careful to stay close to Matt. As they approached home, the car weaving a little what with Matts' mind being a little less than sober itself, Chris started yowl and howl like a tone deaf dog bleating at the moon. Glenn screwed his fingers into his ears as Matt burst out in giggles, and Christian tried to swallow his.

The ones sober enough to walk spilled out of the car. Jeff took Matts' keys and went straight for the front door as Glenn got Adam on his back again, and the other two dragged Chris out of the car. He got out a couple more incoherent lines, and then completely passed out on the grass. Matt fell down next to him, rolling around in the dew, unable to stop laughing as Christian tried to tug on his arm.

"Go on up Jeff. I'll just put Tweedle-Dumb to bed and then go out and help the rest of the stooges with Tweedle-Dumber." Glenn smirked, and brushed past Jeff who held the door open. He took Adam upstairs to his room and deposited him on his bed. He gave a little protesting grumble, and then his eyes closed and he started to snore against the pillow. Glenn took Adams' shoes off and sat them by his pile of dirty clothes, then went out into the hall. He passed Jeff slinking down to the bathroom at the end of the hallway, and then clomped down the staircase, and outside to help with the others. Christian was in the middle of the yard, his silhouetted form flailing as a stream of curses flew from his mouth.

Glenn went to Matt, who was wrestling Chris up to a sitting position. Glenn shooed Matt out of the way hoisted Chris into his arms bridal style.

"What's wrong with Creepy?" Glenn asked, jerking a thumb towards the raving blond as he picked something from his long hair.

"He got ralphed on." Matt said as he hung on Glenns' arm, laughing, and following him up to the house.

"Serves you right Creep!" Glenn hollered from the porch towards Christian. Matt jerked off one of Chris' shoes and tossed it out towards Christian. When it missed it's mark, he tried again, and the other shoe bounced right off his head, causing both Matt and Glenn to explode into a gale of laughter. He and Matt made it inside and stumbled upstairs. Matt disappeared into his room, still coughing giggles, and Glenn rolled Chris onto his bed.

"You're alright Jericho." Glenn smirked, as he pulled Chris' t-shirt collar up to his lips and roughly wiped them clean. "See you in the morning, Princess."

Glenn left Chris where he was and decided it was way past time that he passed out in his own bed. He glanced at his cell phone: 4:13 am. He passed Matt in the hallway as the dark haired man weaved his way towards the end of the hall.

"Is he okay?" Matt asked Glenn, as he leaned on the wall and tangled his fingers in his unruly mess of curls.

"For now. In the morning, not so much." Glenn offered with a shrug, before shutting the door to his room.

Matt headed on down the hallway, towards the bathroom, but then veered into Chris' room instead. The blond was dumped awkwardly on the bed, and Matt stumbled over to him and straightened him out into what looked like a more comfortable position. He left for a moment, and came back with a wash cloth, noticing Chris' pretty blond hair had got some of what covered Christian. Matt gently wiped the mess out of Chris' soft hair, and then sponged off his face. He really wasn't sure why he was doing this, it was how he would have treated Ken. And Ken, his best friend, wasn't here anymore.

With alcohol already swirling in his head, his emotions seemed to come crashing down on him, and Matt was suddenly aware that his face was wet and warm with tears. Suddenly, all he wanted was to be close with Chris, the way he would have been close with Ken if he was here. Matt curled up on the bed behind Chris, and a bit unsurely at first, slipped his arm over Chris' chest. Sleep quickly overtook him, and somehow, he felt comforted.

~**~

Matt groaned, and opened his eyes in the darkness. Something had woke him up from a rather hot dream, but now that he was awake, he wasn't sure what it was. He threw his arm over his eyes and smiled a little, realizing that Chris was snoring, his cheek resting against Matts' chest. He found his fingers gently stroking through the long golden hair that was tangled over Chris' face. Sleep began an easy descent back over him, with that soft, drifting feeling that let him know he'd be back to that dream soon.

_Creak._

Matts' eyes flew open, and his fingers gripped Chris' shoulder. The blond sighed in his sleep and rolled away from Matt, his arm dangling off the twin bed. Matt laid back down, telling himself he was stupid for freaking out over a damn creak. It was one of the others up and moving around, that was all.

_Tap. Tap. Tap-tip. Creeeak._

Matt closed his eyes, and ignored the sounds that was one of his friends or his brothers footsteps in the hallway. He was just drifting off to sleep again when an eerie moan sounded, and the door began to rattle. Matt scrambled off the bed, and tumbled to the floor. He crawled to the end of the bed and picked himself up, brushing his frizzy hair out of his face.

"Jeff?" He called in a whispered hiss. The door kept rattling, the knob convulsing and turning, someone on the other side jarring it as if the door was locked. "Glenn!"

"Wha'goin' on?" Chris mumbled sleepily from behind.

"Nothing. They're playing tricks. Go back to sleep." Matt waved his hand at Chris, and moved closer to the shuttering door.

"Christian, you fucking creep!" He reached for the doorknob and began to close his hand around it, when the banging, pulling, turning, battering, stopped silent. In one smooth motion, the door silently opened. "Okay, you idiots who--" Matt stepped out into the hallway, expecting one of the guys to be leaning against the wall snorting laughter. Matts' eyes squinted into the darkness, illuminated only by a few strands of moonlight that spilled through the panes of the window at the end of the hall. Matt moved down the hall and ran his hands along the wall, blindly groping for the light. His fingers crawled over the switch plate, and a hand fell atop his. With a gasp he flicked the switch and fell backwards, clumsily over his own feet and onto his ass, eyes wide. No one was there. He got back to his feet quickly, his first thought that whichever one of the guys who was fucking with him had ducked into the bathroom at the last minute. Matt slid into the bathroom and threw on the light. His heart was thundering up in his chest, at the stupid possibility that pricked the back of his mind, that no one was there at all. Impossible. Besides, he could hear the shower running.

"Where are you, you son-of-a--" Matt grabbed the shower curtain and yanked it back, the rings clattering against the curtain rod noisily. The shower was empty, the head on full blast. Growling, his hands a bit shaky, Matt reached in and turned the water handles, dumbfounded when the water still spewed from the shower head, the temperature growing hotter and hotter as it soaked his hair and shirt. He kept fiddling with the knobs, convincing himself that he'd turned them the wrong way. The water heated and heated, blistering against his skin, steam filling the shower and rolling out into the bathroom.

"Matt?"

The voice was from behind him, rough, groggy. Matt fought with the shower curtain as it tangled around him, finally batted it away, and found Chris in the doorway squinting at him. His hand went to his chest, relieved, as he panted.

"Chris…"

"What are you doing?" The blond asked, yawning and fixing himself.

"The shower--" Matt stopped mid-sentence, his voice frozen. The shower head was silent, the steam had mysteriously cleared, there wasn't a drop of water in the tub, his hair and shirt was completely dry. "Uh…I wa-was…just…felt like a shower." Matt finished, straightening the curtain. "But…I don't want to now." He added, as Chris' quirked his eyebrow.

"Well, then scoot your ass. I have to take a leak."

Chris shooed Matt out of the bathroom, and shut the door. Matt stood, just staring at it, running his hands over his shirt and hair, unable to figure out what had just happened to him. _You were dreaming, you were drunk, it didn't happen. Those are the facts.___Matt told himself, as he concentrated on calming his breathing. He moved back from the door, but kept his eyes glued to it, waiting. He was afraid that maybe something would happen to Chris in the bathroom, but all he heard was the sound of Chris putting the toilet seat up, peeing, and then running water in the sink. The door opened, and there was Chris, just the same, not a hair on his head harmed, his expression not remotely fearful, only pink-eyed with some dried spit at the corner of his lip, and his hair all ruffled.

"What are you staring at Hardy? You don't look so hot right now yourself." Chris snorted, giving Matt a playful little shove. "Ow…" Chris whined, pressing his palm to his forehead when he laughed a little too hard for his hangover to take.

Chris sauntered back to his room, and with a click closed his door. A shudder traced up and down Matts' spine, and he quickly went to his own room, his footfalls thumping against the wood floor. He shut his door behind him and leaned on it, feeling silly for letting the stupid remains of an alcohol induced dream frighten him like a little girl. He took time to strip out of his clothes before climbing into his own bed, as was his preferred method of catching shut eye. He gave a last glance at the door, mumbling at himself under his breath, that he was stupid for even _thinking _that the knob might jangle. He curled up under the blankets and nuzzled into the pillow. His eyes closed, and slowly, he began to calm, and his thoughts began to disintegrate into sleep.

_Creak._

Chris sat up in bed, heart racing. His eyes fell onto the closed door of his room. He _swore_ he saw the knob turn. _Silly_. He thought as he lay back down. _It must have been one of the guys._

~***~


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews and loveage! Enjoy!**

**Two**

"Oh…fuck." Chris murmured as he dragged himself downstairs, barely able to remember where he was. His eyes were closed to tiny slits and he shuffled like and old man through the living room, where Glenn was curled up on the couch with a book. The big man wore his glasses, which made him look absurdly scholarly, and he smirked at Chris when he passed by. Just to be an ass Glenn grabbed the t.v. remote and turned the volume up. Chris shoved his fingers into his ears and pouted, as he made a quick retreat from the room, the noise not helping his head. He made it into the kitchen and carefully pulled a chair from the table and sat down, dramatically flopping over the table as though the Grim Reaper had suddenly claimed him.

Jeff was sitting atop the counter, doodling in a drawing pad, ear buds in as he bobbed his head to whatever wafted out of them. Christian and Adam were still dead to the world, both of them slept through their first classes on a regular basis, and no one dared to wake them. Matt was making coffee, and shook his head at the blonds' dramatics. He poured two steaming cups and sat down next to him.

"Every morning around this place is like de je vu." Matt said, nudging Chris' arm.

The six of them had been settling in for some time now. Any real fighting was down to minimal, although someone was always pulling a prank on someone else, sending the house into chaos more often and not. But it was all in fun. Then, there was the unspoken battle Adam and Chris had formed, which involved alcohol, and who could out-do the other, and still there was no clear winner, no matter how many times the competed. They seemed pretty equally matched in both ability and stupidity.

"Coffee?" Matt offered.

Chris rolled his head up from the table and regarded Matt from one bloodshot eye. He straightened up and took the cup, puffing over the dark, hot surface of the liquid before taking a sip.

"Ugh!" Chris grimaced, curling his lips. "That'll grow hair on your sack."

Matt shook his head with a smirk and stared down into his half-filled cup, his hand curled around it.

"Give some to Baldzilla then." A familiar voice croaked, rough with sleep. Christian dragged himself to the counter, scratched his ass, and poured some coffee for himself. He collapsed in another chair and grumped. "What time is it anyway?"

"Noon-ish." Matt replied, watching as Chris started to nod off.

"Too early." Christian muttered, and guzzled some coffee. Matt reached for Chris' hand.

"Hmph?" Chris snapped awake at the touch of Matts' fingers against his hand.

"You're gonna spill it in your lap."

"Ha!" Christian snorted. "Not like there's much down there to scald anyway." He bent over his foam cup and leered at Chris. Chris screwed his face into a disapproving scowl.

"Why don't you ask your brother, parasite." Chris shot back, a pleased smile spreading across his face. Christians' mouth dropped open.

Matt drowned out the two blonds as they continued to rib one another. His mind was on his fitful night of sleep, which was also beginning to become a repetition. The first night, with the shower, Matt had chalked up to too much to drink. That seemed a reasonable explanation as any. But as the days wore on, the nights still came strangely. Maybe he was just imagining too much behind the creaks and groans of the house, it was old after all, and old houses are known to settle and sigh at night. Then of course he shared this old place with five other guys who were in and out at all times of the night so obviously—but still, when he laid awake in the darkness sometimes, the sounds made him shiver. Then, there was the trembling door.

That was the hardest to explain away rationally. He was convinced the guys were just screwing with him. Maybe they'd made a secret pact to toy with him, and whenever one of them got up to use the bathroom or came in late at night, they just banged on his door and rattled the knob in jest. But the thing was, when Matt opened the door, no one was ever there…and he knew that when his hand shut around the knob he could feel someone on the other side. He shuddered.

"Did a goose walk over your grave?" Chris asked, looking down at his cup and noting that it was empty.

"If I was a goose, I'd shit on it." Christian chuckled.

"If I was a goose, I'd shit on you!" Glenn taunted, as he smacked Christian in the back of the head and tossed his book onto the counter. "Do we have any food around here?" He asked, ignoring Christians' string of insults, and ducking into the fridge.

"Sausage?" Chris offered, biting his lip.

"No, we already established you're lacking in that area." Christian tossed his empty foam cup at Chris, and Chris shot his back across the table. Soon the two of them were at each other, rolling around on the linoleum like two kids mimicking a wrestling match from Monday night.

"What's with you Hardy?" Glenn asked. He patted Matts' shoulder and slumped down into Chris' abandoned chair. He had a box of Chinese take out in one hand, and a cold slice of pizza in the other. He stuck his nose into the white box and quickly pulled it out. With a grimace he slid the foul smelling carton to the middle of the table, and opted instead for the cold pizza.

Matt didn't answer him, and Glenn just studied his dark features, set hard in thought. Glenn chewed his pizza, demolishing it quickly, and went back to the fridge for another slice.

"So?" He asked as he sat back down again, and bit the tip of the pizza.

Matt turned to Glenn, and pointed at the food in his hand, just as he was ready to take another bite.

"There's mold on that."

Glenn drew the slice back, and examined it.

"Oh." He shoved it into the nasty carton and left the concoction in the center of the table, perfect centerpiece décor for a house full of college guys. "Well, guess who gets the squitters tonight! Hope we have some Glade or something…"

"Were you messing with my door last night?" Matt asked suddenly. "And before that?" He narrowed his eyes at the man across from him, as Glenn wiped sauce from his lips.

"I haven't touched your door."

"But you _want _to touch his door, don't you Glenn!" Christian snorted, before Chris fisted a hand into his long hair and took him back down to the floor.

Glenn shook his head and spun his finger at his temple in a 'he's crazy' motion. It barely made Matt smile, the corner of his lips just twitched a little. He had drifted off into his thoughts again. Glenn scooted a little closer and rested his hand on Matts' knee, under the table.

"You're just having a hard time sleeping, probably over what happened with Ken. It's just grief, y'know. When my mother and step father died in the fire--"

"I know. Thanks Glenn." Matt said, cutting him off. He scooted his chair back.

Jeff glanced up from his drawings, and watched as Glenn gave his brothers' knee a quick squeeze before the dark haired man got up. Jeff tracked his brothers' movements around the kitchen with an intense, green-eyed fire, until he sauntered out, briefly stopping to glance at Chris and Christian. Glenn grabbed one of the empty foam cups and made it into a microphone, calling the impromptu 'match' between the two battling blonds.

Jeff slid from his place on the counter and tucked his art pad under his arm. He followed Matt out to the porch, and popped his ear buds from their places, and let them dangle loosely around his neck. Matt leaned over the paint-chipped railing, and played with his fingers.

"What's wrong Matty?" Jeff asked as he watched Matt intently, and picked at the flaking paint on the rail.

"Nothing, Jeff. Just not sleeping well."

"Me either."

Matt regarded his brother from under his dark lashes, and tucked a tendril of hair behind his ear.

"Really?"

Jeff nodded.

"They're all too noisy." Jeff pressed his lips into a tight line, and looked out over the yard, his brows crinkling. "I don't like them, I told you." He added, the words almost snappy.

"I don't know Jeff. I don't think it's any of them. I think Glenns' right. I think I'm just trying to come to terms with Ken." Matt dropped his eyes from Jeffs' for a moment and studied his feet, as though they held some interesting fact. Jeff knew it was a Matt tactic to gather his emotions before they gathered him. After a moment, Matt looked back at his brother, a smile twitching his lips. "And you, baby brother, are just anti-social!" Matt teased, shoving Jeffs' shoulder. The younger man managed a smile, and stomped on his brothers' toe.

"I am not!"

"Yeah, you really are. Freak!" Matt teased.

He grabbed Jeff around the waist, and tossed him and his drawing pad over the porch railing and into the hedge. With a yell, Matt vaulted over the railing, and landed atop his brother. They both started a fight in the bushes, which soon spilled into the yard, and then out to the curb where mountains of leaves were raked up. Matt got the upper hand again, and tossed his brother face first into a mound of dead leaves. Jeff came up sputtering and coughing, with crumpled leaves clinging to his colorful hair. Matt yanked him up and tried again, but this time Jeff crawled over his shoulders and down his back and flipped him.

The two of them rolled in the leaves, crunching, laughing, and choking on dust. Matt finally pinned Jeffs' arms above his head, as the younger man shrieked, and writhed to try and get free. He finally managed to free one arm, and he wrapped his legs tight around Matts' waist and grabbed his shirt. Jeff pulled his brother downwards forcefully. Their noses touched, both of them panted. Matts' hair was stuck up in crazy frizzes from his disheveled ponytail.

"Alright Jeff, enough." Matt laughed, as his brothers' eyes seemed to glow with mischief. He let go of Jeffs' other wrist, but Jeff made no move to release his hold. "Come on, let go before I really have to beat the snot out of ya!"

"But why Matt?" Jeff panted, and chewed his lip. "We're having fun."

Matt managed to pull his shirt free from Jeffs' grasp, and started trying to wiggle from the vice-like hold Jeffs' legs had around his mid-section. He reached down and ruffled his brothers' unique tresses.

"Because Rainbow, I have class." With one forceful movement, Matt freed himself. He climbed out of the leaves and brushed his hands over his jeans, then fiddled with his ebony hair.

"Class?" Jeff snorted, as he got up to his knees, and idly played with the leaves.

"Yeah. Ever heard of it?" Matt ribbed. He got his hair into a reasonable mess, and started to walk back towards the house to grab his books.

"No. I ain't ever heard of class, and you Matt Hardy, sure don't have any either!" Jeff called to his brother as he made his way across the yard, in that wide stride of his. Matt stopped long enough to smirk at Jeff, and send him the one fingered salute. Jeff flopped back into the leaves, gathered some up in his hands, and then opened his fingers, and let the leaves fall over his face like dry, dead, drops of rain.

~*~

Chris sat in the back row of the auditorium. The professor at the front of the class looked tiny and blurry, and Chris could barely hear or pay attention to whatever it was he was droning on about. It didn't matter anyway. This chick in his class had a huge crush on him and would be willing to give him copies of her notes should he sleep through class, or just blow off coming entirely. _The benefits of being me_.Chris thought to himself, a smug smile touching his lips. The professor pulled a screen down over the white-board, and dimmed the lights, starting up a Power-Point presentation.

"The mind's deepest desire, even in its most elaborate operations, parallels man's unconscious feeling in the face of his universe: it is an insistence upon familiarity. But, like the physical, the psychical is not necessarily in reality what it appears to us to be."

Chris rolled his eyes as the professor began, and he made a gun with his thumb and forefinger and pretended to shoot himself in the head. The girl next to him stuffed her laughter into her hand and scribbled into her notebook.

"…are really very complex, and our understanding is very little." The drone continued. "The mind is like an iceberg, it floats with one-seventh of its bulk above water. The biggest question that asserts itself is this: what mysteries, what miracles, what unfathomable, dark, monstrosities lay beneath those undisturbed waters? What if some of us could duck beneath that luminescent surface, and rake our fingertips against merely a portion of the mammoth potential that lurks there, waiting…"

"I can't take this." Chris mumbled. He flashed the note-taker a dazzling grin and a flirtatious wink, scooped his books under his arm, and exited the room to head down to the Commons. His stomach rumbled, demanding that he satisfy it.

He was standing impatiently in line at the campus Burger King in the Commons, tapping his foot, when his cell buzzed in his pocket. He flipped it open, read the text, then looked over his shoulder and smiled at the man behind him.

"Hey." Matt hung his arm over Chris' shoulder. "Who woulda thunk we might run into each other here?" Matt smirked. "I mean, don't you have class with Professor Haynes right about now?"

"No. I have a lunch date with Professor King and his Whopper." Chris nudged Matt in the belly with his elbow.

"Was that meant to be dirty, or does everything you say just come out that way?" Matt laughed, as he shoved Chris' forward.

"At least you're in a better mood now. You were as sour as that fetid fried rice Glenn tried to eat earlier."

"Well, hanging around a clown like you I can't stay mopey for too long."

Chris curtsied, which caused Matt to break out into laughter.

"Which reminds me, Shortstack…have you been fucking with my door at night?" Matt tugged Chris' ponytail. The blond batted his hands away, and waggled his eyebrows comically.

"No I haven't, is that an invitation?"

"What is this? Does _everyone_ want me? I mean, I am pretty hot but-"

"But not as hot as me." Chris finished, whacking Matt on the chest.

The girls in front of them finished their order, then Matt and Chris put theirs in. Chris made sure to ask for extra mustard on his burger, just to watch Matt gag as he let the yellow condiment cover his lips and drip down his chin once they started to eat. Matt hurled a fistful of napkins at Chris, and made stupid threats to him. Chris turned it around on Matt, and somehow, by the end of lunch, Chris had struck a deal with Matt that when he won a drinking game against Adam (because of course he was bound to win their next match) that Matt would have to drink a double shot of mustard. Matt shook Chris' hand with a rather nasty looking grin, and told him he had no chance in hell winning against Copeland. Then Chris chased Matt through the Commons and out to the fountain, and tackled him into it.

~**~

"Hey Matty!" Jeff swept into Matts' room and found him sprawled on his bed, the evening casting shadows over him, making the room dim. Jeff reached for the lamp on Matts' bedside crate and flicked it on.

"Adam, Christian, and I are going to Glenns' game then we're going for wings after. Wanna come?" Jeff plucked the book out of Matts' hands and turned it upside down, flipped the pages, and shook it until a couple of index cards fell out. Jeff tossed the book back at Matt who caught it, and he picked up the index cards and snorted. Matts' hand writing was scribbled on the cards, certain things highlighted. "Nerd!" Jeff teased, and handed the cards back to his brother. "Let's go."

Matt yawned, and shook his head. He stuffed the index cards back into the pages of his book.

"I'm gonna pass tonight. I have more studying, and then I'm gonna pass out. I'm beat." Matt explained, flipping through the pages to try and reclaim the place he'd been reading (more like dozing off) before Jeff barged in and raped his study habits.

"But I want you to go." Jeff whined. He sat himself on the small of Matts' back. The older Hardy groaned as Jeffs' weight pushed him into the mattress. Jeff started to bounce. "Please? Please!"

"No, get off creature."

Jeff gave Matts' backside a hard whack, then rolled off.

"Alright then. But you owe me! I'm trying to be 'social'…" Jeff finger quoted, his facial expression clearly annoyed. "...for you and your reject friends. So you remember that, brother of mine." Jeff finished, and sauntered towards the door. He rested his hand on the knob for a moment, and smirked. "Have fun nosing around in your books. If that's what you really plan to do." He added, something in his eyes darkening for only a moment.

Matt rolled his eyes.

"Jeff, don't be hurt."

"I'm not." Jeff shrugged, and left Matt alone.

Matt found where he left off—or at least maybe it was—and started to drag his sluggish eyes over the words again. Soon, however, they all jumbled together in a blurry lump, and his eyelids started to shut them out. Just as sleep was drifting in for the kill, a creak sent him toppling from the bed, startled. He pulled himself up and peaked over the mattress, only to see Chris doubled over in the doorway with laughter.

"You idiot!" Matt fumbled for his book, grabbed it, and chucked it at Chris' head. It hit the door frame, cracked the spine, and flopped open onto the floor. Chris straightened up, and hiccupped laughter.

"You should have seen what you just did—I didn't think you could move that fast!" Chris giggled, as he crossed the room and flopped belly down onto Matts' bed. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"Don't say that!" Matt hissed. He pulled himself up and nudged Chris. "And scoot your ass over, this is my bed. Remember?"

Chris wiggled to give Matt some room. The dark haired man lay flat on his stomach, mimicking Chris, his elbows propped on his pillow.

"Why didn't you go with the crew?" Matt asked, a yawn overtaking his last words.

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't like basketball." Matt shrugged. "And I'm tired. You?"

"I don't like it either."

Chris picked at the hem of Matts' sheet, his cobalt eyes followed the minute patterns of the tiny threads. He chewed his lip. _I didn't go because I knew you weren't going. _Chris thought, inwardly voicing his real reason: he was quickly becoming very fond of Matt Hardy.

"I wanted to study too, but that seems like it's going to happen…maybe when hell freezes over." Matt put in, swatting at Chris' hands when his picking became annoying. "Go get my book."

Chris scoffed.

"Me? Excuse me, I get nothing for no one. Do you know who I am? I am the great, amazing, brilliant, sexy, undisputed--"

Matt narrowed his eyes at Chris, play-glowering darkly.

"Go get my book."

Chris held Matts' dark eyes for a moment, lingering on their chocolate depths, before he slid off the bed and made a show about swaggering over to the book. Matt rolled to his side, and couldn't help but watch the way Chris' hips and backside moved as he strutted. Chris bent to pick up the book, and wiggled his round asset.

"Getting an eyeful Hardy?" Chris joked, as he straightened up slowly. He sauntered back to the bed, and climbed on next to Matt, and handed over the book. "What is that garbage anyway?" Chris asked, leaning over Matts' shoulder to look at the text.

"Math."

"Satan!" Chris dramatized, and crossed his fingers. Matt laughed.

"It's not that bad."

"Oh, so it's like…if Susie has four apples, and Chris steals two and eats them, how many are left?"

"Not exactly." Matt squirmed a little, as Chris' breath fell warm and ticklish against his neck. "Quit reading over my shoulder." Matt nudged the blond. Chris flopped onto his back.

"So it's like…Chris has ten pizzas, and Glenn eats 90% of them. How many days will Glenn be stuck on the toilet?"

Matt shut his book, and gently smacked Chris in the forehead with it.

"No. It's more like…Chris Jericho has nine lives. Each life is equal to ten feet. If Matt throws Chris from a 25ft steel cage, how many times will Matt have to throw him from the cage until Chris is dead, therefore leaving Matt alone to study."

"That's harsh." Chris pouted. He oceanic eyes sparkled, and Matt found himself drawn to them. They were so lively, so beautiful.

"You know Chris, I like you too much to actually--"

A boom exploded their quiet moment, the impact had the bed shaking, the windows rattling. Both men sat bolt upright, eyes glued to the door.

"Jesus!" Chris shouted, his hand pressed to his chest, his heart thundering beneath the palm.

"The…the door…" Matt started, his eyes wide. Chris crawled off the bed and went to the window.

"It was just a draft, happened in the dorm all the time. Just have to keep the windows closed when it's windy, or else--" Chris drew back the curtain, ready to pull the window closed, only to draw his hands away with a gasp. The window _was_ closed.

"I didn't have the window open." Matt said quietly, when Chris turned a shocked expression towards him.

"No, it had to be open. That's the only explanation." Chris shook his head, and looked back at the window. "This house is old, the windows are old, when the door slammed it probably just jarred the window and--"

Matt scampered from the bed, wordlessly pointing, his eyes wide as plates. Chris turned and watched, as the window creaked and slid upwards as though an unseen hand was opening it. The curtains began to flutter, and then to fly and flap noisily as a cold, hard, wind shot in through the opening and sent Chris stumbling backwards.

"Shut it!" Matt cried. He found his feet, and shakily, rushed over to Chris. He jumped and whirled around when behind him, the door knob began to convulse. Chris got up and stumbled towards the window, but the force of the wind barely allowed him to stand. He inched closer, fighting against the gust that sent shivers through his body, not just from the iciness, but because it was not at all natural, Chris just knew it. He was mere inches from the window. One of the curtains became dislodged and wrapped around his face. He pulled it away and grasped at the window sill.

His scream filled the room, and it all stopped. Matt hurried to the window, and began to tug on it. The glass had shattered with the force as it closed—on Chris' fingers. The blond spat profanity as Matt pushed at it, trying to shove it upwards and free Chris from its bite, but it was as though some unseen force was weighing it down, and it was as though Matt was pushing against a mountain.

"Get it up!" Chris yelled.

"I'm trying!"

Suddenly, all resistance gave away, and the window slid up easily. Chris pulled his hand back and stared, his fingers were swollen fat and purple, the nails already blackened. He sniffed, and fell onto the floor in a seated position, just looking at them.

"Chris, go down and get some ice. I'll be there in a minute." Matt panted, trying to calm himself, as his mind raced a mile a minute to try and rationalize what had just happened. Chris nodded, and Matt helped him to his feet. He held his broken fingers to his chest and disappeared from the room. Matt turned towards the window, ready to shut it, and demand that whatever was here leave him and his housemates the fuck alone. But he didn't have to shut it. Any damnation on his tongue was swallowed, and nearly choked on.

The torn curtain was back at the window, the jarred rod in place, the shattered glass whole, the window closed. Matt squinted at it, and blinked, disbelieving. For what seemed like long minutes he just stared at it, almost convinced none of it had happened, that Chris was gone with everyone else at the game, and everything that had happened after Jeff had left him alone had been nothing more than a nightmare on an overtaxed mind. He blinked again, and cautiously stepped towards the window, and inspected it closer. It was _painted _shut, and there was no crack or line in the paint from where that seal had been broken.

Matts' heart pounded up into his throat, and all he wanted to do was be out of that room. He kept calm enough to keep from running, and bolting down the stairs, but just barely. He went into the kitchen, shaking, and found Chris at the table with a towel of ice against his hand.

"Let me see." Matt demanded, praying that when Chris moved the ice, his fingers would be pink and slender and normal.

"Shit." Matt muttered. "Wha…what the hell…happened in there?"

Chris tried to flex his fingers. They twitched a little, and he hissed. The two were silent for a moment. Matt took Chris' hand gently, and laid the cold pack back against them.

"I got my ass kicked by a window?" Chris suggested, his voice unsteady. He laughed nervously. Neither of them found it funny.

~***~


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you all kindly for the reviews!!! Here's the next! AND…Happy Halloween :)**_

**THREE**

Jeff folded his arms over his chest and boredly watched the men below scamper over the court. The sounds of shoes scuffling and squeaking, the ball slapping the slick floor, and a flurry of colored jerseys and shorts, all passed through his senses. Once or twice he actually picked Glenn out and tracked his movements a little—not that it was hard to pick the big goof out, it was just that Jeff didn't care. His thoughts slowly drifted back home and he thought of the blank wall in the living room that had spoken to him as a canvas of potential the first day he'd walked into the house. He could see it perfectly in his minds eye, as he could see many things abstractly, and began to mentally paint the wall in designs and colors. He stored it all away to memory, each tiny detail, the exact hue of each color—to which he could already figure out just which colors to mix and exactly how much to come out with what he wanted—and maybe he'd start on it tomorrow.

His emerald eyes flicked over to Christian, who also looked about as bored as he was, only he was stuffing his face with popcorn and occasionally throwing some at a girl in the next row, his lips turned up in a grin. He snickered when the girl turn, angrily brushing her fingers through her hair, and shot him the bird. He stepped up his game by dipping the pieces of popped corn into the cheese pot in Adams' abandoned nachos and then flicked _that_ at the girl instead, smiling with dark joy when the nasty projectiles lodged themselves into her long red hair. Jeff nudged Christians shoulder, and caused him to drop his bag off popcorn all over his feet. The blond glared at him.

"Stop being a creeper." Jeff said flatly.

"I can just buy more!" Christian huffed. He stomped from his seat, and weaved his way through people on the bleachers to go to the concession stand.

Jeff turned back to the game just in time to see Glenn hit a three-point shot, just as the buzzer sang. _Good, I think that means we can leave now. _Jeff thought. He tugged at Adams' arm. The blond was noisily chomping his gum and completely enthralled with the game—no—Jeff smirked as he realized it was not just the game Adam was watching. His eyes were fixed to one particular player, a certain naked-headed, big dope, who looked ridiculous when he had his glasses on. That look in Adams eyes was just the same as the ones he'd seen pass subtly now and again from Chris to Matt, or Matt to Chris. He wasn't sure his brother entirely realized it, but that didn't keep that dipshit blond from knowing.

"Let's go Casanova." Jeff snapped, flicking Adams' ear.

"Hm?" Adam looked dazed. "Oh, yeah." He got to his feet and followed Jeff out of the arena. They lingered near the concession stand to wait for Christian to get done flirting with the guy behind the counter, and for Glenn to meet them. Adam leaned against the wall, and cocked his head to the side.

"Hey, did you notice that chick in front of us that had popcorn in her hair?" He snorted.

"No. All I noticed was you looking like a love sick puppy." Jeff shot back, as he looked over his blackened fingernails.

"Love sick? You've got to be kidding me. I'm not _in love_ with anyone."

"Then lust, I suppose." Jeff corrected. He watched Christian from under his lashes. The guy looked like he was about to crawl over the counter, and the man behind it was clearly not interested. Jeff smirked.

"Well, lust! Now that's completely different. Sure, I probably _did_ look like that then. I'm lust sick 99.9% of the time, chump-stain." Adam popped his gum. Christian came storming over to the two of them moodily, a scowl crumpling his face. "But unlike Creepy here…" Adam slung his arm over his brothers' shoulder, as brother grumbled. "I can always snag the object of my erections."

"Go to hell." Christian mumbled.

"Case in point." Adam went on, ignoring Christian entirely. "There's that little red headed chick that was in front of us. She's a hot little number, wouldn't you agree?"

"She looks like a fucking man." Christian stated, flatly.

"With popcorn in her hair." Jeff added in with a bored yawn.

"Watch the master." Adam released his brother, and sauntered over to the target of his demonstration.

"Let's bet on how quickly he's going to get rejected." Christian said, leaning against the wall, mocking Jeffs' stance.

"Probably not as quickly as it took you."

"Fuck you."

"No thanks." Jeff leered. "Now, see that? _That _was a quick rejection."

Christian chewed the insides of his cheeks and managed to not say anything more to Jeff, or to reach over, grab his rainbow fairy-locks, and smash his face into the wall. He instead kept his eyes trained on his brother as he poured it on to this chick he was after. After a few moments, the roles were reversed however, and it was she who was _pouring it on _him—her drink at least. Christian doubled over with a fit of laughter, and Jeff just smirked, one of his eyebrows cocked, as Adam made his way back to them, his shirt soggy and his hair sopping.

"Thanks Adam." Jeff reached over and patted his chest, getting his palm wet and sticky against the clinging material. "Now I know how to score and ugly man-chick if I ever want one."

"What's going on?" Glenn asked, siding up to Adam.

He had on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt bearing the college logo. The white fabric was clinging to his still damp skin and the curvy muscles of his chest and upper arms. His bag was slung over one shoulder, and the towel from his shower was draped over his head, looking like a sad attempt at a head dress for Joseph in a nativity scene. _A nativity scene where Joseph scores three-pointers with Mary as the buzzer sounds—with Mary who looks a lot like an annoying, Coke-soaked, reject called Copeland._

"My brother was just showing off his sexual prowess." Christian coughed, choking back hiccups of laughter. "And his dating skills."

"Date? I didn't know we needed dates to go snag some wings at the sports bar." Glenn pulled the towel from his head and let it drape over his shoulders. "Well, in that case, you two lovelies pair up." Glenn motioned to Jeff and Christian, who turned to each other with nearly identical looks of disgust on their faces. "And I'll take this." Glenn smiled down at Adam, and slipped an arm around his waist.

"This is gay." Jeff protested, as Christian shoved him.

"What's your point?" Glenn asked, using his towel to gently dry the ends of Adams' ruined hair. "You'd rather have your brother?"

"Yes." Both Christian and Jeff answered at the same time. Glenn stopped what he was doing, and eyed them both, before turning back to Adam and whispering.

"They're _both _Creeps."

Adam nodded in agreement, and he and Glenn sauntered off, leaving Jeff and Christian to tag behind.

~*~

Matt and Chris were curled on the couch. Matt had brought his books down to the living room and was reading, since now he couldn't fall asleep, even though he was worn out. All he kept thinking of was that window in his room—the unmolested window with its painted seal—a seal that seemed to just leer and laugh at him like he was some sort of lunatic imagining the damned window slamming up and down, up and down, like a hungry mouth ready to gnaw off fingers and toes and anything else that got in the way of it. _Ridiculous. _Matt thought, as his mind drifted from the book in his lap. _Or as Chris would say: Ricockulous._ He smiled, and moved his shoulder just a little. It had became a pillow for Chris who was slumped over on him, with that packet of ice melting, and making a wet spot on his jeans.

Matt put the book aside and moved the towel from Chris' hands. It was sopping, and he gave it a toss in hopes it would splat onto the coffee table. Instead, it landed on the floor, and a trail of water immediately snaked over the wood floor. He glanced over at Chris' fingers, still purplish, although the worst of the swelling was down.

Carefully, Matt moved from his place on the couch, and lowered Chris onto one of the pillows. The sleeping blond mumbled something incoherent and buried his face into the arm of the couch. Matt smiled down at him, and then pulled his eyes away and focused them on what he was really concerned about. He was looking at one of the windows. He moved across the room. The wood slats creaked under his feet. He studied one of the front windows carefully, as he moved towards it. This one looked out over the porch, and it was the same type as was upstairs, only this one hadn't been painted over. He ran his fingers along the sill, and jerked it back with a hiss when a splinter plucked his finger. He squeezed the little fang of wood out of his flesh and popped the end of the digit into his mouth, and suckled it for a moment, as he continued to study the window.

It really didn't look heavy enough to do the kind of damage it had done to Chris' fingers, was what the dark haired man was thinking. Most likely, it would have slammed down and when he pulled Chris' fingers out, there would have been angry red indentations in a line over his fingers, where the thing had captured his hand, and maybe a little bruising. Matt fiddled with the rusty, belligerent old locks on the window before getting them both open. He raised the thing up so it was just about as open as the window in his room had been, when that weird, icy wind had kicked up—and then plucked a yellow pencil from its perch behind his ear. He held the window open with one hand, rather than locking it in place, and situated the pencil on the ledge. After he was satisfied with it, he let go of the raised window.

It slammed closed, and from behind him came a shriek. He whirled around to see Chris, wide eyed and awake, hugging one of the throw pillows to his chin.

"What are you doing!" Chris shouted. He threw the pillow at Matt as the dark haired man walked over to him, his lungs expelling a gasp of pent up air.

"I'm sorry, I got wrapped up in what I was doing and wasn't thinking about you over here sleeping." Matt knelt, and took Chris' hand again, once more surveying the damage. Chris drew them away.

"That still didn't answer my question, ass-clown. I oughta bitch slap you for scaring the hell out of me like that." He added, a lop-sided grin curving his lips.

Matt led him over to the front window that looked over the porch, and opened it, this time he set the lock. He held up the yellow pencil.

"So?"

"So, look." Matt pointed to a tiny dent and scuff mark on the painted surface of the pencil. "It didn't even break this pencil. How the hell did it do _that_ to your fingers?"

Chris shifted his eyes nervously towards the window, as if at any moment it might grow arms with horrible clawed hands on the ends, and wrap around him, and drag him into a gaping maw with shards of razor-glass as teeth. Chris shuddered, as he imagined the snapping, sneering, translucent, choppers smeared with blood. The fact that it had ruined his flesh, and barely laid a scratch on that damned pencil, gave him the unsettling feeling that whatever was going on was strong, and _intentionally _aimed to hurt him.

"I don't know Matthew. Maybe the ones upstairs are different." _Rational! Be rational!_

"They're the same."

"It…it was just a freak accident Matt. It doesn't matter."

"Chris, come here."

Matt pulled Chris by his uninjured hand up the stairs. A couple times the blond stopped and refused to budge, as stubborn as an unwilling donkey. Matt finally man-handled him into the room, and over to thing that had terrified them both. He pointed, and Chris looked.

"So what, it's closed."

"No, it's sealed. There's no logical—it just—how--" Matt sputtered. Chris backed up into him, and pressed close.

"I don't know, but I don't want to get close to it again, okay? It obviously doesn't want to be fucked with." Now it was Chris who grabbed Matts' hand and led him around. They ended up back on the couch, sharing a blanket, as Matt flipped through channels on the t.v.

Chris watched the images flicker by as Matt surfed. The little blips featured Late Night With so-and-so, political commentaries, adult cartoons, re-runs of Roseanne and Sanford and Son and Threes' Company, hair band music videos, a slew of news channels with mechanical anchors, none of it enough to hold either mans' interest. Their eyes were watching the set, but their minds were racing with other, less pleasant thoughts and possibilities.

"It had to be just some freak thing, right?" Chris asked quietly, his voice sounded almost child-like. Matt muted the t.v., and held Chris' blue eyed gaze with his for silent moments, before almost reluctantly nodding his head.

"It had to be. I mean logically, well…what else could it be. I uh, I don't really believe in…well, you know."

_Ghost? Spirits? Demon Clowns? Homicidal Dolls? Cantankerous Gremlins? Haunted houses for the children?_

Chris moved a little closer to Matt, and grabbed the remote from him, and quickly changed the channel. The Twilight Zone was playing, black and white and somehow a lot more macabre and scary than Chris had ever remembered it. He settled for Family Guy. The Evil Monkey in Chris Griffins' closet was glaring at him, and pointing.

"Yeah, Matt." Chris answered, moving still closer. "I don't believe in them either."

~**~

"Aw, how cutesy!" Glenn laughed, as he and Adam stumbled through the door, and his eyes spied Matt and Chris huddled together in the soft, flickering glow of the t.v. screen.

"Carry me…Ican'twalkinnymoar." Adam laughed, slurring his words. He hung on to Glenns' arm, and laughed more when he was scooped up into them, bridal style.

"I don't know what's sicker!" Christian sniffed, as he brushed past both of them, and quickly wove his way up the stairs.

"You just need laid, Creepy!" Glenn shouted, forgetting that Matt and Chris were asleep just over on the couch. He glanced back at them, but neither moved. Behind him, Jeff shut the door and locked up. The rainbow haired one kicked off his shoes, and followed Glenns' gaze to his brother and Chris, who looked like a two headed lump.

"So, you think they're cute, do you?" Jeff asked, his voice low. Glenn watched Jeff as he moved in the shadows of the dark room, the light falling almost eerily over his face. His olive eyes glittered, and he looked like a stealthy, watchful, predator lurking in the jungle, under shadows cast by wide fronds and tangled thickets.

"I don't know."

"What do you think? Do you think they're really getting close?"

Jeff stepped out of the shadows, and gave a piece of Adams' hair a tug. Anything that had been unnerving about him fell away, and it was just silly little Jeff. Funny, how something as simple as lighting can change ones feel and perception, he thought, as he twirled a lock of gold around his finger.

"I think they've made a quick connection. It's easy to see the friendship between them, but then again, Chris pretty much fits with all of us. It's like…he was here all along." Glenn added, shifting Adam in his arms. He'd fallen asleep, and was breathing softly against Glenns' ear. "And I think it's good for Matt, what with Ken and everything."

"Hm."

"Yeah, Chris is a good guy." Glenn moved his gaze to Jeff, and smirked. "You ain't too bad yourself either, for a…what did Christian call you at the bar when you kept doodling on the napkins? Princess Picasso. That's it. You ain't bad either, Princess Picasso." Glenn winked, and left Jeff standing in the living room, as he toted Adam upstairs.

He stayed for a few more moments, just watching his brother. His thoughts drifted over various times they'd spent together as children, growing up, holding on to each other. With a soft smile, Jeff crossed the room, and fixed the blanket so Matt had more of it. He drew his fingers over his brothers' soft curls, and pressed a gently kiss to his forehead. Then, he retreated to his room, and buried himself beneath the covers.

In the room across from him, Glenn was tucking in Adam. He finished and stood over the bed for a few moments, just gazing down at him, as his chest rose and fell beneath the blankets. He probably would have stood there longer, watching stupidly, and thinking about the touch of his lips, but something else was nagging at him and forced him away. Too many beers, that's what.

Glenn closed Adam's door and shuffled to the end of the hallway, where he ducked into the bathroom. It smelled overly flowery, because Matt had bought some room spray (thank God finally!) only he'd picked the most feminine, disgusting scented can in the whole of Wal-Mart. Why he couldn't have picked something more suited to a house full of guys--such as Pine scent, or Happy Fresh Mountains, or something that didn't smell like Mother Nature farted every time you sprayed it—and that she indeed _does _smell like roses—Glenn didn't know. He finished peeing, and went to the sink, only to find an empty bottle of soap. Oh well.

He went to his own room and changed into some sweat pants, and then sat down on his bed with his lap-top. He ran through emails, checked some of his favorite blogs and forums, and then pulled up draft one of his Master's thesis and just stared at it. It was more like a few sentences, maybe a paragraph if he could go back and pad some of the sentences with extra words. He moved the cursor and started to work on it, although as he typed he was still thinking of Adam a little, and the way his knee was starting to bug him, and how he probably should get it looked at by the campus doctor or the athletic trainer.

_S:Og;aogi;a"SPDG"Wgmawarg anwrSD)G"aerhgnrSDFGdhfnerg23900000000000000000000_

_0000000000000000000000#(*Wn000_

Glenn blinked, and stared at the lines of gibberish scrolling across his screen. His fingers leaped back from the keyboard in shock, and still, the unmeaning lines continued to write themselves over his pages. He pushed various keys, thinking they'd got stuck or something. It stopped. _Well, now that was weird. Maybe that's some kind of sign I don't need to work on this tonight. I'll just delete this crap, save, and go to bed. _

Only when he tapped the backspace key, nothing deleted. The cursor stayed at the end of the nonsense symbols and refused to move back at all, refused to gobble up the unwanted lines, and clear them away. He tried again, and again, until his taps became annoyed and the key crackled, as if he'd broken something underneath the little plastic button.

_Damn it._

_New strategy._

This time, he tried highlighting everything he didn't want, but the cursor refused to move no matter how many times he left-clicked and tried to drag the damned thing over the numbers and letters. He decided all this messing around wasn't going to get him anywhere, there obviously something wrong with the stupid computer which he'd just shelled out bucks for. He moved the arrow towards the red X in the corner of the screen, ready to shut out the program and the computer and just be done with it. The arrow froze, however, and refused to let him close the program. It just sat obstinately disobeying at the top of the screen between 'Microsoft' and 'Word' at the top of the document.

Glenn was getting more annoyed by the moment, and finally reached for the 'off' button intent on just shutting the machine down. His fingers stopped, however, and his mouth fell into a shocked 'O' when something began to happen to the gibberish on the screen.

_S:Og;aogi;a"SPDG"Wgmawarg anwrSD)G"aerhgnrSDFGdhfnerg23900000000000000000000_

_0000000000000000000000#(*Wn000_

SO:Djgapw'jjgdsfffh[034

Asjd;afl/ggggggggggsaoeigna;dbdf

Jaops;gergp';0ewe8t9w7suajpd'm;(Q#*RTgwh'aspnSD

SE$t89

SO*FH*Y9gp

oS*Udgyp9aweyagphoiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinlniose9t8w0ay[sgyhr8ye7gaehfaoodbknlcv,mbcno9pwa;sfdasjlb

nkcxbXIHBOC:NLkergjw['agsd;l)_*+*(t7wgiusngaklbd

SOhgpwhoa;gn

The tiny pieces of text began to _melt_ and drip down the white background of the text document, and glitter crimson, in strange, bloody, little rivulets. Glenn shoved the computer from his lap and onto his bed, his hands trembling. His eyes stayed captivated, horrifyingly drawn to the screen, as more and more of the symbols, letters, and numbers, melted away into running blood. He reached towards the machine, stopped, and reached again. His heart was thundering at his chest, begging, pleading for him to shut the fucking thing off before something really horrible happened, as though this wasn't horrible enough! He held down the power button, the screen did little as much as flicker, the blood ran quicker trailing down the page, heavier.

"Shut the fuck off! SHUT OFF!" Glenn shouted, as his fingers banged down again and again at the button.

Warmth touched his fingers, and with a cry he drew them away—the tips smeared ruby. From out of the bottom of the screen, the blood oozed, usurping the disobeying 'power' button, and trickling down into the keys. With all rational thought quickly escaping his mind, Glenn reached for the power chord, and disconnected it from the computer. Out from the plug and from the emptied socket, sticky strings and clots clung like gory, chunky, spider webs. With a terrified cry Glenn lunged at the computer, which was still on—the soft glow of the backlight was seeming to _throb _through the coat of dark blood that now obscured the screen—and he shoved it onto the floor where it clattered noisily.

He fell back onto the floor, sprawling onto his back, as he stared at the ceiling, struggling to capture his breath as his nerves wrapped themselves together and his heart screamed against his sternum. His mind was racing, nothing in it seeming useful or coherent.

After he'd laid there for what seemed like hours, with the cool wood flooring against his bare, sweat-soaked back, he picked himself up. The first thought that came to his mind was that what he had seen _and felt_ had been impossible—_beyond _impossible. On his hands and knees Glenn crawled around the bed, so slowly, shakily…he was almost afraid to look. He stopped at the foot of the bed and had to actually give himself a pep talk to round the corner and look. He almost expected to see the lap-top laying on its side in a pool of blood, looking like a slain, animal with a hard-drive.

It was there on its side, but there was no blood. He inched closer, and closer, and drew the thing towards him. He inspected it again and again—the crevasses between the keys, the tiny pin-prick holes for the speakers, the plugs, the drives, he even turned it over and took off the battery—but there wasn't so much as a pinhead of red anywhere.

~***~

**A/N: Okay, I even creeped myself out in that one. I think I'll leave my light on when I'm IMing with my ladies tonight. *shudder* **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews. Sorry the update took a while. Hope you enjoy :)**

**FOUR**

The night left Glenn sleepless, with pestering visions of his lap top flooding his mind, blood streaking the screen, burbling up from between the keys. There was no explanation for what had happened—he hadn't even been drunk. Certianly four beers and a _lot_ of wings would not have made such an appearance possible. The only thing those spicy delectables were conjuring up was a bad case of heartburn. The night had pressed on, dragging slowly. Eyes flicked again and again to the clock with the squarish red numbers next to his bed and it seemed like they were refusing to move, geriatric keepers of time, hobbling crippledly, and with all the speed of a three-legged turtle.

Finally the darkness began to gray out as lazy slats of autumn sunrise cautiously crept through slits in the blinds. With a yawn that made his jaw crackle, Glenn climbed out of bed and shuffled downstairs feeling like the worlds' biggest, baldest, zombie. Sure, a night without sleep wasn't a big deal to a guy in college. Hell, there were many of those. But last night had felt like a _week_ of sleepless nights because he kept trying to find some explanation, and the only one that seemed reasonable was that he was becoming mentally disturbed, which was not really such a pleasant possibility to consider.

Glenn grabbed a Red Bull from the fridge and popped the tap, tilted his head back, and guzzled half of it down. He yawned again and sat down at the table, half-watching the sun as it brightened through the window above the kitchen sink, and half still turning that question over and over in his mind. His thoughts were only interrupted by shuffling feet, which he recognized as Christian. He eyed the blond over his blue and silver Red Bull can and watched as he made his way to a cabinet, his steps slow and sluggish from sleep, his eyes only half open. He pulled a plastic cup from the cupboard, and in the process knocked a mug off the shelf. It broke against the linoleum, apparent by the sound of shattering porcelain. Christian looked down at it, shrugged, and left it where it was. He filled his plastic cup with water and sat down across from Glenn, watching him through bleary blue eyes.

"You look even less pleasant that usual." Glenn snorted, finishing off his drink. Christian narrowed his eyes at him.

"Red Bull…gives you wings huh." The blond mumbled. "So do maxi pads. Maybe you should invest."

Christian gulped some water, and grimaced.

"Tastes like fucking rust." He grumbled.

"Why didn't you just use the cup in the bathroom instead of coming down here? Let me guess, your Creepy Little Bastard senses knew I was down here, and of course you can't ever pass up the chance to be a nuisance."

"Of course." Christian parroted back, his voice a tone of sarcasm. "Or maybe it was because one of our drunkies decided to do some redecorating in the bathroom. There's vomit caked onto the toilet seat, and a few splatters on the floor. The bathroom cup had some questionable fingerprints on it, and there's a few globs on the sink. Best of all? On the hot water knob, there's a big, gelatinous, chuck right on top of the 'H' like a half-digested hat."

"Stop—ugh, just stop!"

Glenn's own stomach was starting to roil at the too detailed descriptions. He glanced at Christian from under his heavy brow, the way that made him look menacing. The skinny blond was just smiling at him, pleasantly pleased with himself. Christian's lips under morning stubble—which really just made his face look dirty—pulled upwards at one corner, making his lips seem to slouch pompously. He tilted his head forward, laughing at the look of disgust curling Glenn's lips. His dirty blond hair slipped over half of his face like a sleep-ratted curtain. He finished the water in his cup and tossed it towards the sink from where he sat. The cup clattered into the basin, and Christian let out a victory yelp, followed by a yawn. He squinted at the sunlight, now bright rays spilling across the cabinets and floor.

"You can sit in here with your Red Bull, but I'm going back to bed. Too fucking early."

With that, Christian got up, stretched his slender frame, and left Glenn alone. He spent most of the morning brooding, trying over and over to set the strange occurrence to rights in his mind. After his head started to ache dully with the insolvable puzzle, with a grumble, Glenn pushed himself from his chair and went into the living room, scratching at the seat of his sweat pants. He sank down onto the lumpy sofa and hunted around in the crevasses between the cushions for the remote control. He fished out a dollar bill, one of Jeff's paint brushes, and a crumpled beer can, but no control for the t.v. He stared for a moment at the dead screen, pretending the powers of the mind beneath his naked dome could switch it on without having to get up and actually mess with it.

"What are you doing?" Jeff asked, his voice a bit snippy, as he passed by. His purple and green hair was in a messy bun with a pencil stuck through to keep it in place, although it wasn't working so well. Vibrant strands framed his face, and the goofy looking tiger-stripe beard he trying to grow.

"I could ask the same." Glenn said, knowing that Jeff just like Christian was never up this early. "And can you turn on the tube for me?"

Jeff reached down and with the touch of a button brought the t.v. to life. Glenn slinked down in the sofa in order to try and get a better angle on it. Right now, it was just propped up on some boxes which made it pretty low for the purposes of taller viewers—which Chris at least didn't have to worry much about. Thinking that, a small smirk twisted at Glenn's lips.

"Inspiration, man." Jeff said, in a delayed answer to Glenn's question. He pulled a pencil from his back pocket—he seemed to always have brushes and pencils and such things everywhere and yet nowhere at the same time—and scribbled into the sketch book in the crook of his arm as he passed in from of the morning news. He went to that perfect bare wall which he'd had his molten, emerald, eyes set on since they'd first moved in. He glanced again at the rough sketch in his book, and imagined it spread out on the wall, the lines moving and curling in and out on themselves, designing patterns and images and details.

He could see the colors, bright hues like plumage on a tropical bird fanning in all directions, swirling and blending, the edges creeping and bleeding out into less pleasant colors, deep crimson like pooled blood, deep purples the color of raw, throbbing, bruises, blackish-greens the color of rotting things as disease takes and destroys, and blue the color of fearful eyes as dark, consuming, shadows move beneath. It was a beautiful vision, spread over that naked wall, some last, spidery tendrils of paint curling over the wood floor, like twisted ivy. He nodded, approving the mural, and then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the wall was blank but for a few bumps in the plaster and scuff marks. Jeff placed the point of the pencil to the blank canvass, and began to sketch.

~*~

When Matt finally rolled out of bed and made his way down stairs it was close to noon. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and stretched his back for a moment, feeling better when it had loosened up a bit. He ducked into the kitchen and watched Chris for a moment, as he stood at the counter and drowned his toast with globs of jelly. Matt snatched one of the pieces from Chris' plate and bit into it, flicking his tongue out against his lips at the sticky grape goo. Chris eyes sparkled, as he grinned crookedly, and non-discretely ran his tongue along the plastic knife to clean off the left over jelly on it, before capping the jar up.

Matt laughed, and slapped Chris' bicep playfully, and went back into the living room. Glenn was slumped on the couch, looking completely ready to just slide off of it like a wet noodle off the tines of a fork. His mouth was hanging open and he was snoring. Matt thought about waking him up, knowing that he should have been at class by now…but what would missing one class matter? Glenn was too anal about his studies anyway and was probably more likely to fuck his Political Theory book rather than ever getting around to sleeping with Adam, who was clearly smitten with the big goof.

Matt opted for leaving Glenn alone, while making a mental note to make fun of him later for sounding like an asthmatic bear when he slept. He plopped his butt onto the arm of the couch, still chewing on the gooey piece of toast, and pulled the remote out from under one of the cushions. He flipped through a few channels, finding nothing but day time soaps starting up. Matt left the clicker on Glenn's knee and finished his toast. He noticed Jeff, at the other side of the living room, spreading colors onto the wall. He was seated on a stool from the kitchen and next to him was another stool, with tubes of paint on it, and a paper plate with little dollops of pigment on it—a makeshift palette.

Matt snuck up behind his brother, stealthily and quietly from many years of practicing the art, and grabbed his sides. Jeff startled and let out a little squeak.

"Matt!"

"What!" Matt laughed, as he pulled Jeff off the stool and tickled him. His wife beater was riding up as Matt's hands possessed him, showing off the soft ivory skin of his belly and hips, the cute little button with the glittery ring in it, and the thin strap the thong he was wearing. Jeff bit his lip and the silvery ring that pierced it, and didn't put up much of a fight. He gasped with a few hiccupped giggles, as his brother's hands roamed over his body tickling, sometimes accidentally brushing against his ass, or a taut nipple.

Jeff turned on him, and their bodies were pressed against each other, as Matt continued his childish assault. Jeff burrowed his face into Matt's shoulder, into his soft, ebony hair, and inhaled the scent of his brother, the faint wisp of his shampoo, and the pleasant and familiar aroma of his cologne. He closed his eyes, inhaling deep, the exhale almost laced with a whimper. He wiggled against Matt, now wanting to get free, but Matt was still keeping up the game. Jeff turned his lips towards the crook of Matt's neck, and bit down on the muscle. Matt yelped, and immediately shoved Jeff away.

"No fair!" Matt jabbed his finger at his younger brother, who looped his fingers through one of his empty belt holes and tugged his pants up. It didn't do a lot of good, they just slid down again, revealing that strap that said 'luscious' round and round the band in tiny hot pink letters. "No fair Jeffro, no biting allowed!" Matt rolled with laughter, as Jeff just smirked at him.

Jeff took a couple of steps up to his brother again, and the smirk seemed to darken, his mischievous eyes full of some deviant plot.

"Jeff, what are you--"

"Are titty-twisters allowed?" Jeff growled, and before Matt could respond—he did try to bat Jeff's hands away but he was too quick—the younger Hardy grabbed the rounded pecs and bit with his fingers. Two fingers pinched the soft flesh against thumbs and pulled, and twisted, making Matt yowl and yelp.

"Okay okay! Je-Jeff stop you win! YOU WIN! I give!" Matt whimpered, as Jeff squeezed even harder, brining tears to his brother's eyes. "You win ah—let go!" Matt managed to pry his brother's hands off of his chest, and backed away, rubbing gingerly at the painful areas. "You're such a cheat." Matt hissed, half smiling.

"I like to win." Jeff laughed, and went back to his painting.

~**~

Matt went upstairs, intent on surveying the damage done to his chest. His nipples felt like swollen bee stings beneath the cotton fabric of his shirt. He passed Adam in the hall way, holding his head, and looking like he'd been ran over by a train. _Maybe Glenn tip-toed into his room last night and put him through the mattress…_Matt thought with an amused little snort. He ducked into the bathroom at the end of the hallway, and crushed a scurrying cockroach underfoot before it was able to flee and squeeze between the cracks in the linoleum. He picked up its smashed body with a piece of toilet paper, and flicked it into the toilet. He ran his hands over his hair, looking at it in the mirror, and noting that it was mussed up from his tickle-fit with Jeff. He combed his fingers through the long curls until he was satisfied, and then pulled the hem of his shirt up, grimacing at the purple-black bruises and the swollen buds. He brushed his fingers lightly over one, and winced a little.

He fixed his shirt, quickly letting it down, as Chris came in, invading the small space.

"Sorry, just gotta…" Chris apologized and reached over Matt's shoulder to the medicine cabinet and pulled out a tube of toothpaste and a tooth brush. Matt watched as Chris squeezed a bit of the paste onto the brush, and then stuck the tooth brush in his mouth. Chris quirked an eyebrow at Matt, laughing around the brush as he used it and foam started to leak from his mouth. Matt couldn't help watching as it dripped down Chris' chin, reminding him of something a lot less appropriate. He watched as his own cheeks colored a light red in the mirror. Chris leaned over the sink and spit foamy toothpaste into the basin, and rinsed. He straightened back up, still keeping his quizzical blue eyes on Matt. He flashed the dark haired man a big, dazzling, smile.

"What, ain't you Southerners ever saw'd a toof brush?" Chris drawled comically, crossing one of his pretty blue eyes.

"Shut up, you." Matt smiled, ducking his head a little in embarrassment at the thought that had been running through his head a few moments ago.

"You can try to make me, Hardy, but that's a useless endeavor." Chris patted Matt's chest, and looked concerned when he hissed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just my stupid brother and his little-brother antics." Matt said, gently rubbing at the sore spots again.

"Let me see." Chris rolled Matt's shirt up, a bit awkwardly with his one hand because two of the fingers were taped together in a make-shift splint. Matt's torso was slowly bared, toned and olive-tan. He shivered at the brush of Chris's fingers against his skin. Chris frowned at the twin injuries marring Matt's handsome chest. "Let me see if I can make it feel better." Chris purred, as he ducked his head.

He took the purple bud between his lips, softly caressing it with gentle almost-kisses, suckling so gently, and lathing with his warm, wet, tongue. Matt's hands found Chris's waist and planted there, griping hard as the actions of Chris's skillful mouth—and the tingle of mint still on his lips and tongue—made him shudder and tingle all over. Chris took his time, not seeming to care if anyone was to walk in and see them, with the door still wide open. Matt's eyes were closed, and he was chewing the insides of his cheeks raw. Chris finished with the one, and then moved to the other, enjoying the taste of Matt's skin against his tongue, the feel of it against his lips, even the scent of him. When he was finished, he gave each one a small, gentle kiss, and then straightened up, and placed a hesitant one against Matt's full, pretty lips. When he moved away, Matt looked a bit stunned.

"I—I'm sorry." Chris apologized, quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I don't know what came over me…I mean…uh…"

Now both of them were standing in the crowded bathroom red as a pair of cherries.

"Assclown." Matt smirked, finally breaking the silence.

Chris laughed awkwardly.

"Yeah…I guess I am."

"Get out of here before I tickle you too blondie!" Matt play-shouted, shoving Chris towards the door as they both laughed, the silliness making them both feel a little better.

"Ooh, don't do that Matty, I might like it too much." Chris smirked, as he let Matt push him into the hallway.

"I bet you would." Matt leered.

Matt lunged at Chris, and chased him through the hallway, down the stairs, and through the house. Their rumpus woke Glenn, who picked up the remote on his knee and looked at it with confusion. Christian yelled at them both to shut up, and then he and Adam started to argue over the card game they were playing. Jeff turned from the beginnings of his mural, and watched with a glare as Matt chased Chris around the table in the kitchen. His eye twitched, and he huffed, and shook his head, lime and purple hair being tossed away from his face. He swirled his fingertips in the plate of paint dollops, and smeared them all together, into a sickish, sludgy looking color. He smeared it onto the rainbow design on the wall, marring its beauty.

~***~

_**:) **_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you for the continued reviews!**

**FIVE**

Jeff's fingers gripped the sheets on his bed, tearing one side away from his mattress in his passion. His eyes were narrowed to small slits, the emerald orbs lulling underneath, to reveal only a moon-like sliver of white. His pale face was wet with a shimmer of thin sweat, the roots of his hair darkened and sticky with beads that rose at his hairline. His chest rose and fell, the creamy ivory skin naked. His nipples were bruised from tweaking and pinching them, and imagining the fingers working them sensually belonged to someone other than himself.

The sheet that was half-across his torso was tented at his waist, as he grew harder and harder with the sordid fantasy playing out in his mind, as it had so many times. Each detail was perfect and clearly realistic in his mind, almost so real he could feel the hot breath against his neck, the plump lips brushing wetly over his skin, the pressure against his tight, inviting muscles, as Matt buried his hot cock deep inside.

Jeff gasped, as his hips rolled and his back arched up from the bed. His stiffness bobbed up against his belly and he moved one of his hands under the sheet. Fingers trailed ticklishly over one of his pale, pretty thighs and then moved to more intimate places. Soon, his toes curled with the intense pleasure.

Matt being there with him was so vivid. He could inhale the scent of his brothers flesh against his nose, so familiar, exotic, and intoxicating. He could see the dark lust burning deep in Matt's earth-tone eyes, the pin-prick beads of sweat dappling his olive-tan flesh, gathering and dripping as the heat of their bodies rose together. The sounds of their flesh sliding and slipping together sent soft moans and whimpers from Jeff's parted lips as he reached behind his head and gripped the bottom of the headboard. It was unsteady, and rocked against the wall as he writhed.

He moved and arched on the bed, as though meeting the thrusts of Matt's thick cock inside of him, and the hard, maddening pulls of Matt's hand around his aching length. His emerald eyes lulled back, and he squeezed them tightly closed as each powerful thrust of his brother's hips cause the thick, dripping head, to strike that sweet spot inside. His teeth were clenched tight together, his throat, and lungs aching with the need to cry out, as he forced the needy sounds down to strangled grunts.

In his mind he was crying out, screaming, yelling his passion and frenzy as it welled forth with the force of a thousand erupting mountains, the agony of his caged need feeling like boiling lava streaming down the insides of his mind. Matt's name was so loud in his head, in his ears, that each inner cry sent shockwaves of migraine-pain through his skull and ears, until it was so intense that he could barely withstand it. _Matt! Oh, Matt! _As every fruitless time before, he hoped that maybe his mental screams would be heard by his brother, that he'd know, that he would fucking know how much Jeff wanted him, how much he _loved _him.

_Matt, Matt, mmm Ma-atthew! _

He heard no sounds from his brother as his fantasy-conjured form continued to hammer into him, tensing, so close to his release. Jeff arched up with the last piston of his brothers hips, before release filled him deep inside, warm, and wet. He was ready to cum at nearly the same moment, the orgasm coming on like a jet of fire against gasoline—_CHRIS._

Jeff's eyes flew open, the feeling rushing him towards a fantastic pinnacle suddenly derailed. He yelled out in frustration, as his intensely crafted fantasy vanished before his eyes and his cock twitched, begging for relief that it wasn't going to receive. His hands trembled as he let go of his grip on the headboard. His head was dizzy, spinning, the pain still thundering like the roar of legions of horses hooves against hard-packed ground. Behind him, through the wall, he could hear it. He could hear Matt saying his name, and could hear his voice as they talked. They laughed. The springs in the bed creaked, the dull thump of Matt's headboard against the wall, Chris' smirk that was subtly-or maybe not even subtly-flirty, the way his fucking blue eyes glittered as they moved over Matt, drinking in what didn't belong to him!

Jeff managed to roll himself off the bed, numbly, he started towards the door. Anger consumed him, tilted his head to the side, baring his teeth wolfishly. He stopped barely long enough to pull his jeans on and do them up, the zipper and rough fabric painful against a part of his body that was still semi-excited. He walked the short distance to Matt's room as his head felt on the verge of exploding, or caving in. The walls and floor seemed to be moving as though he was drunk, the colors before his eyes throbbing as though the world was freshly painted, the wet pigments not even yet dry. He reached for the knob and almost missed it, his depth perception even being thrown off. With another try he grabbed it and shoved the door open. For moments he just stood watching them, they didn't even realize he was there.

They were just sitting on the bed, a couple text books spread out, loose leaf paper strewn over the bed like collegiate confetti. Chris was making faces with two yellow pencils shoved under his upper lip, like a walrus. Matt had two pens hanging from his nostrils like misplaced, Bic, vampire fangs ready to taint blood with poison blackness. Jeff stood in the doorway, watching with his eyes narrowed to slits. One hand gripped the wood casing with white knuckles, as he imagined horrible things happening to the blond man--morbid things, dark things which would seem troubled, and unstable perhaps. The kinds of things that would make his high school counselor cringe, and sweat, and loosen the knot of his too-wide tie as Jeff sat in his office like a dark cloud, fingering the sharp tip of a protractor that was on the desk.

Finally, Matt noticed the unmistakable, tingling feel of eyes on him. He turned, the pens still in his nose as though he was some mischievous child, and caught sight of his brother. His face was wet with sweat, not just pale but white, his colorful hair falling over his shoulders and face like a tangled curtain. He was breathing heavily, the look in his eyes clouded, his teeth bared. Jeff took a step forward into the room, unsteadily, his senses seeming to mingle and then desert him all together. He knew his mind and body was too overwhelmed, and that they were automatically shutting down from the overload. He was an intense person, and sometimes it was all too much. His legs seemed to have disappeared, he couldn't feel them under him anymore, and he noticed the floor coming up to greet his face. There was pain, and then darkness.

~*~

Matt flew from the bed in a flash, and just barely missed catching his brother before he face-planted into the floor. Matt quickly rolled him over, scooped him up, and brought him to the bed which Chris was clearing off. The blond was nervously shifting from foot to foot, one hand in his hair, as his mouth worked open and closed, in a rare moment of wordlessness.

"You—you want me to call an ambulance, eh?"

"He'll be okay…" Matt assured, though his voice seemed unsteady as he spoke. He ran his fingers through Jeff's hair, smoothing it against the pillow. "This hasn't happened for a while, I thought he was better." Matt sat at the edge of the bed, and kept running his fingers through Jeff's long hair in a soothing motion.

"Wha..what's wrong with him?" Chris was still at the foot of the bed, standing there just watching, his eyes still wide and scared.

"He's done this ever since he was really little. Mom took him to a lot of doctors and everything. His brain functions at a really high level, really _intense_. When he was little he'd never stop, he'd never sleep, he just couldn't until it became too much then he'd black out. Sometimes he'd only be out for a few moments, other times it was worse. The way his mind works, it was explained to us like having a head full of tvs all blaring at top volume, all on different channels, all fighting for attention, and outlet. Everything Jeff does is intense, extreme, above and beyond average. It's just how he is." Matt smiled down at him, and stroked the side of his face. "He had a lot of therapy for it, some experimental medications, hell he's been doing great for years controlling it. Just sometimes, it gets to be too much and he has to shut down because he can't cope with it."

"Like when a computer freezes with too much information, kind of?" Chris asked, stepping a little bit closer, and peering down at Jeff's still face. His cheeks seemed to be coloring faintly, slowly but surely.

"Pretty much." Matt said, continuing to caress Jeff's face, the tips of his fingers prickling over the thin tiger-stripe beard.

Chris watched, the fear slowly easing away, replaced by a soft smile. Matt's touches were so gentle and loving, and Chris couldn't help but wish that not too far in the future, Matt's fingertips would be brushing against his cheek with the same amount—though without the 'brotherly' aspect—of love.

"I…I didn't really want to go into it, you know?" Matt glanced back at Chris, searching his face for signs of judgment or disbelief. "I mean he's been doing really well and from experience, when people find out, they treat him differently, like he's some kinda freak. So, don't say anything to the guys okay? He…he has a hard time with other people, and social stuff, he doesn't really have friends and…I don't want everyone to look at him like that. Everything's going so well now." Matt sniffled a little, his love for his brother making him grow emotional. "I should have known though. He's been having headaches." Matt added, under his breath.

"I won't say anything." Chris answered quietly, placing a hand on Matt's shoulder. "It's not anyone elses business, and as for me, doesn't matter to me, as long as he's okay." Chris gave Matt's shoulder a little squeeze, then laughed a bit. "I was afraid he was gonna pitch a fit and swallow his tongue or something. I was so scared, I think I peed a little." Chris joked, and that made Matt grin, and shake his head.

"You always know the right thing to say." Matt breathed a sigh of relief. Chris's little barb of humor had somehow relieved his tangle of stiffened nerves.

Matt felt even better when he noticed Jeff's eyes slowly moving beneath his eyelids, and then, warily the golden lashes parted to small slits. Jeff whimpered a little, and tried to raise arm so he could wipe his brow with his hand. He only got it a little off the bed before it collapsed back down against the mattress, seeming heavy as a pile of bricks. Sensing what he wanted, Matt skimmed away the sweat on his forehead with a corner of the sheet.

"Hey Rainbow." Matt greeted, as Jeff opened his eyes a little wider. "Welcome back."

"Dizzy." Jeff croaked, closing his eyes again. Matt could tell he was still awake, just opting for the darkness of the backs of his eyelids rather than the harsh light of the room.

"I know. Just rest." Matt scooped Jeff into his arms, his body limp and weak. He took him back to his own room and tucked him into bed. Matt never left his side until he woke up again, this time from sleep rather than from a black-out.

When Jeff opened his eyes this time, he felt more strength come back into his body, and things had stopped spinning. He propped himself up a little against his pillow, still tired, but not drained like he had been. Hours must have passed, because outside was gray with the early onset of evening, and shadows were lurking in the corners of the room. Matt was at the side of his bed, rubbing Jeff's knee, and the shadows fell there too. The angles of the soothing darkness bathed Matt's features, and made them seem more chiseled than they were.

"Feel better?"

Jeff nodded. His eyes slowly left his brothers face, and slid to the hand that caressed his knee. His balls still ached from earlier, probably blue and bruised now, and Matt's touching wasn't helping any. He wished his brothers hand would inch up his leg, fingertips digging into his fleshy-white thigh, biting, spreading, probing, yanking. He was already starting to breathe harder again, the distant pain in his head throbbed to life, suddenly pouncing against the front of his skull, making him groan.

Matt's eyes widened, and thankfully his hand left Jeff's knee.

"What's wrong?"

Jeff pressed his hand to his forehead, and closed his eyes for a moment, reigning in his fantasy and putting it away. It was a bit of a struggle, it was getting harder and harder for him to battle back against them, and sometimes he really didn't want to. He liked for the heightened images and feelings to play out, and normally, it wouldn't end with such a negative result. Had he been allowed to finish he would have been fine. _Chris._ That name, dripping from his brothers lips, came to his mind again as it had through the wall earlier.

"Jeff?" Matt repeated. "What's wrong?"

"Just a headache. It's going away though, I'll be okay." He swept his tie-dyed locks from his face. "Will you…will you stay with me?" He added, his voice sounding almost childish, his face pouty and sleepy. He moved over a little, and patted the empty space in the bed.

"I can't Jeffy, I have class with Adam in…" Matt glanced at the clock by the bedside. "About 20 or so odd minutes. I'll get one of the others to come and keep watch over you. I'll just tell them you're not feeling well, they don't have to know anything else. I promise. I won't leave you alone."

"So." Jeff pouted. "Let Adam take notes for you, and stay here with me. Please? I don't feel good, and I want you to stay. I don't like any of them, you know that." Jeff pinned Matt with his eyes, boring into him, until the darker Hardy squirmed.

"Can't babe, we have a mid-term tonight. I can't miss it. Prof's letting us out right after it's done though so I promise I won't be gone long. 'Kay?"

Jeff didn't answer, he just rolled over into his pillow, away from Matt so he couldn't see the glare creasing his brow and turning down his lips.

~**~

Glenn shifted in the chair that he'd brought in to Jeff's room. It was just a steel fold up chair, a little bent, and a lot uncomfortable. He shifted in it and moved his knee a little to keep it from getting stiff. He had a book in his lap, but it had been opened to the same page for at least a half an hour. His mind wasn't on the words there, but on two other things. One of those things was tall, and blond, and impishly flirty. Glenn had tried to help him study earlier for his mid-term, but Adam had quickly abandoned academic pursuits for ones that involved head-bobbling as he made little innuendos here and there, victorious gum snapping, lecherous grinning, and eventually ended with the blond straddling his lap. Adam had pressed his body so tight to Glenn's that the t-shirt material almost felt non-existent between them. Glenn had felt Adam's chest rising and falling against his, and the way the pink rosebuds on his pecs hardened to excited points as their mouths found each other, and parted for a mutual exchange of tongue and hot saliva.

Adam's beautiful long locks were soft in his fingers as he twined them around each digit and grasped the back of his head, sealing their fevered kiss tighter together. Their mouths moved together as the writhing muscles inside slipped and slithered against one another, and their teeth clicked. Breathing room was scarce, but occasionally they parted—barely—to take in a few quick breathes before diving in again, needing the contact almost more than they needed the air, it seemed like.

They'd only been separated finally when Glenn realized someone was laughing, though the sounds seemed muffled. He pulled his mouth off of Adam's and turned a lust-filled gaze to the culprit, who had been Matt standing at the bottom of the stairs. Adam was still nipping at Glenn's swollen lips, flicking his tongue against them, as the bigger man panted.

"Ha-Hardy, how long have you been watching?"

Matt was laughing into his hand and glanced up at the clock up above the couch, where it hung tilted.

"At least fifteen minutes, and you two were already at it good when I got down here. What're ya'll doing going for a world record?"

"Gleeeenn…" Adam purred as his kisses moved down Glen's jawline, then to the leaping pulse of his neck.

"Mmm…" Glenn murmured, half heartedly trying to slide Adam out of his lap. The guy had a death grip on his shoulders, and when Glenn tried to move him his fingers dug in harder.

"Come on, Casanova." Matt teased, yanking Adam off of Glenn. "That's enough _studying_ for tonight. We're gonna be late if you don't stop sucking Glenn's face off."

"That's not all I could suck off." Adam's lips parted into a wide grin, and his eyes flashed mischievously. Matt grabbed the blond around his trim waist, and steered him towards the door, shaking his head.

Now Glenn couldn't get those deep throated kisses out of his mind, the way Adam's lips felt hot and wet against his, how it felt to have his beautiful body pressing close. He was chewing his nails, just thinking of it, and his jeans were getting a bit too tight for comfort. However, the other thought that was plaguing him quickly shoved that one aside, and made physical pursuits the last thing on Glenn's mind.

It was the damned blood. That night. What happened with the laptop.

Jeff stirred in bed, and rolled over, the sheets rustling gently. Glenn came out of his thoughts, and went to the bed.

"Hey, you okay?"

Jeff cracked an eye open at him, and he seemed to give him a Cyclops glare.

"Fine." The young man practically spat.

_Damn, PMS much?_ Glenn thought to himself, but he didn't say anything. He just quirked his eyebrow, and went back to his chair. After a few moments of silent contemplation, he spoke to Jeff, hesitant to pose the question.

"Hey Jeff…" He started, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"What." Jeff replied flatly, obviously not caring what Glenn had to say, or if he even existed.

"Uh, I was just wondering…" _And I'll ask you because I'd have less chance of looking stupid in front of you. _"Have you noticed anything…hm…strange with the house? Has anything weird happened to you, I mean?"

He leaned forward in his chair, hands crossed as though he might be praying, waiting. Jeff propped himself up on his elbows, his hair a colorful mess around his pale face, and he seemed to be smiling just a little, a ghostly curve of his lips.

"Strange things happen to me all the time. I _am_ a strange thing." He said in a voice that was almost sing-songish, somehow nearly taunting in its quality.

"Well, what I mean is, I don't know. Has anything…possibly supernatural…" Glenn sighed, slapping the palm of his hand to his forehead. "This sounds so ridiculous. Just never mind Jeff, go back to sleep."

"You mean like, phantom footsteps? Doors slamming? Voices at night?"

Glenn's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't expected Jeff to have actually experienced anything. Hell, he wasn't even sure that he'd experienced…whatever it was…the blood sacrifice of Dell?

"Oh, wow. Really? Then I'm not…I thought—wow! I thought I was losing my damn mind!"

"Yeah, me too." Jeff admitted, pulling a hand through his hair. "Good to know I'm not the only one…"

"Yeah." Glenn agreed, heaving a sigh of relief. "But…there has to be some explanation, right?" He asked at length, the rational side of him still groping for legitimate answers. "I mean, it's an old house. Maybe it's just the floors creaking, the house settling, the wind…"

"What happened to you?" Jeff wanted to know, cutting Glenn off, and eyeing him from beneath his lashes.

There was a long silence. Glenn didn't want to say it out loud, because the confession of the occurrence to someone else would only make it seem more real. Telling Jeff would just solidify it, and he didn't want the unexplainable to be real. It couldn't. There is a way things work, and a way they don't work in the world. Case in point, electronics and otherwise unliving organisms, do NOT spew forth blood. It just doesn't happen, unless Alfred Hitchcock had become God and was playing a grand joke on a few college guys.

"Well, my…um…"

Reluctantly at first, Glenn explained to Jeff what had happened. The more he talked about it, the better it felt to let someone else know, and there wasn't a detail he didn't leave out. When he was finally done, he looked up from the focal point of his toes, and nervously glanced at Jeff. He'd fallen asleep again. With a sigh, Glenn got up and fixed Jeff's covers, and noticed that he must have been drifting around in a good dream, because he was smiling.

~***~


	6. Chapter 6

_**Thanks for continued reading/reviewing :-D I appreciated it.**_

**SIX**

"Failed?" Chris asked incredulously, as he sat at the table, his chin propped in his hands. "Man, I bet Matt even let you cheat off of him, didn't he?" At that, Adam nodded, and swiped his hair back from his face. "How'd you still manage to fuckin' tank it?"

Adam shrugged, crumpled the print-out of his midterm grade, and tossed it over his shoulder. It wasn't as if it really mattered _that_ much. It was just the middle of the term, there was still enough time left to cram, cheat off of Matt more, and if it came down to drastic measures, there was always begging. That 'D' was sure to be within reach. Victory!

"You've been too absorbed with alcohol, and a certain bald monster, is what I say." Chris smirked, leaning back in his chair. He smugly crossed his arms over his chest and studied Adam's face as actually blushed a little at the conjecture.

"Absorbed with Glenn?" The taller blond snapped his gum. "Excuse me, but you're getting rather close with a certain someone yourself, Chrissy."

"I don't know what you mean." Chris tried to defend, suddenly studying his nails.

"Yeah, I'm not _that _clueless. Matt, of course—and don't give me that look. I see you two and your little 'discrete' flirtations." He made finger quotes around the word 'discrete'. "Yup, I see a budding couple."

Adam got up from the table, and went to the fridge. Chris was leaning back in his chair, thinking of what the gum-snapper had said. He was attracted to Matt, and they had quickly become close friends, the kind who seemed like they'd always known each other. Then, there was the flirting, which came from both sides. Chris was the one who tended to cross that boundary sometimes though, like sucking on Matt's bruised nipples in the bathroom. That was just a little more than friendly. But hell, Matt just lost Ken months ago, he probably wasn't looking to start up anything new—or at least anything serious—for a while. Chris traced his fingertip along the patterns and swirls of wood grain on the table.

Adam was seated back at the table with a bottle of beer in one hand and a slice of cold pizza in the other, both consumables that always seemed to be endlessly abundant in the house.

"See Christopher, you hafta know how to play the game." He bobbled his head and pulled a pepperoni off of the pizza. "And I'm the expert, so you oughta listen to my advice."

"Expert? Come on, I bet you haven't got in Glenn's pants yet. You're not even an official couple yet, either." Chris snorted, a grin twitching his lips as he watched Adam turn the beer bottle in his hand.

"Eh, I have Glenn wrapped around my little finger, chump-stain. He just doesn't know it yet."

Chris brought his hand up to his mouth and tried to cover the escaping laugh as a cough, as Adam twisted off the cap and took a big pull of the drink. He had no sooner tipped the bottle to his lips, than his eyes grew wide as plates and the liquid went spraying out of his mouth sending a splatter and a wad of gum over the table. Chris doubled over laughing, banging his fist against the table.

"What the fuck!" Adam bellowed, quickly bolting to the sink and washing his mouth with tap water.

Christian had poked his head in, to see what all the commotion was. His brother was turning away from the sink, furiously scrubbing at his lips, and Chris was coughing and choking on his tearful laughter.

"Jericho I swear to God! Did you do this?" Adam jabbed a finger at the bottle of 'beer'.

"N-no it was—C-Chri-Christian!" Chris managed to get out, as he gasped. Blaming Christian for his own juvenile prank seemed the better option at the moment. Adam turned towards his brother with a frown, and a look that seemed rather dangerous.

"Whoah, hey what—I didn't do any--" Christian ducked as the bottle came launching at his head. He barely made into a crouch in time, the glass barely missed connect with his head. Instead he got showered in a rain of shards and liquid that _wasn't_ beer.

"I will get you back for that one, creepy little bastard." Adam grinned evily, as he knelt momentarily by his wet brother, then strolled out of the room, still rubbing at his offended lips.

"What the fuck was in that?" Christian asked, getting to his feet. He grabbed a towel that was poked through a drawer handle, and wiped his face.

"Oh…I can't breathe!" Chris fell out of his chair and lay on the floor staring giddily at the ceiling. Christian narrowed his eyes, and plucked a piece of glass out of his hair. He brought the towel to his face again, then stopped, catching a certain familiar smell.

"Shit, no way…" He sniffed the damp towel, his nose curling in disgust. "Dude, this is piss!"

Chris pulled himself up, sniffling. He worked on a serious face, and in a deadpan voice answered.

"Yes, yes it is piss."

Christian tossed the wadded towel at Chris. It hit his chest softly and curled on the floor.

"Oh well, I guess this can be counted as payback for what I did to you this morning then."

"Huh?"

"I whacked off with your Iron Maiden t-shirt."

Chris's neutral expression turned into a scowl.

"Do you know how wrong that is? You jizzed on Maiden!"

"I did, and it was good." Christian answered, laughing darkly.

"You really are a creepy little bastard." Chris muttered under his breath.

"Damn right, Jericho!"

"Note to self, put padlocks on closet and dresser."

~*~

Matt lay on his already made bed, staring at the ceiling. His dark curls were fanned beneath his head, spread over the fluffy pillow like rays of a black sun. His thoughts were revolving around a loud mouthed blond, who should have been by his side but wasn't. He missed Ken. He missed his insane antics, his smile, his mischievous eyes, the feel of their hands bound together in that special, intimate way. A sheen of tears pricked at his eyes, and he sniffed. By now he should be used to this sort of pain, or at least somewhat resilient to it. After all, Ken wasn't the first person in his life that he'd held close to his heart, and lost.

There was his mom, of course. He and Jeff had lost her at an early age to a cancer in her brain. The hole her death had left in their life had been enormous and dark, and threatened to swallow the whole family into it. Matt had been the strong one, not only for his little brother but for his father also. He'd done it because he had to, and because she had asked him to. At night he cried quietly because he missed her soft touched, gentle kisses, her smiling lips, her laughter. They had the closest bond and in losing her, he had felt as though he'd lost a part of himself too, and being only a child he didn't know just how he was supposed to deal with that. He just did, somehow.

If that had been the only great loss in his young life, it still would have been one too many. However, he was a young man who would become much more acquainted with darkness and emptiness than most did in a life time. Somehow, he'd always managed to move on, pulling from some sort of strength that seemed to be otherworldly.

After mom, there was Amy. She and Matt had grown up together and been best friends. Right before high school, they started dating. The two of them were together until their junior year—when on their way home from junior prom, they were hit by a drunk driver. Matt had been the lucky one, he'd suffered nothing more than a broken wrist and few minor cuts, but Amy…

He remembered the bone-jarring jolt as the truck t-boned them and the metallic skid of the car as it slid, and the bang of tire as it blew out. He'd immediately reached for Amy, and took her hand. Her head was busted, her red hair painted even darker with thick-leaking blood. It ran down her face, over her carefully done make-up. She was shaking, one of her hands flopping against the crushed side of the door. Her eyes were wide, pried open in shock, her mouth open with horrible choking sounds as she tried to breathe—but she couldn't. A chunk of glass from the shattered window was lodged into her neck cutting a deep slice and with each pulse the blood sprayed over the windshield and the dash in crimson fans. He mumbled things to her, incoherent things that he thought would somehow help, but nothing he could say helped. The arch of blood from her slashed neck slowly lessened, until it was no more than a steady drip down the stained column of her throat, and the still, round tops of her breasts.

He had forced himself to move on, knowing that Amy would have wanted him to, and knowing that he couldn't just live his life in the pathetic shell that he'd became that summer. By the time senior year rolled around, he'd made a promise to himself to push on. That was the year he met a cute little blond freshman who had a tendency toward trouble-making and defiance. He had piercings in places that would make most people stare, a spikey mohawk, a few amateur tattoos spiraling his arms, and he was cute as hell. He was perfect. Shannon quickly moved into Matt's heart, and just as quickly was taken away.

The summer before Matt was due to leave for his first year of college, he and Shannon, Jeff, and Shane were just winding down a hot, sticky, day by doing something they'd done time and time again. They had walked down to the creek and perched on the old railroad trestle that crossed it. The four of them showed off to one another as the jumped into the cool water. They did it for hours, laughing, shoving one another, flipping and twirling like dare-devils, spitting water at each other. Only three of them walked away from the trestle that day, in the dark, as the crickets and frogs seemed to hum a sad, mournful dirge.

Shannon drowned. At first when he didn't come up from the water, they only thought he was playing. Shane was cat-calling and laughing, but soon fear usurped the group as Shannon still didn't surface for a time that was too long to bode well. The three of them ran and made their way down to the creek, slipping and sliding on wet grass and lose rocks at the waters edge. The tumbled into the currents and in a tangle of limbs they all delved under in a frenzy to pull out their small friend. Shane was the one who dragged Shannon out onto the bank. Matt sprinted to the nearest house he could find. He doubled over on the doorstep with a stitch gnawing his ribs, as he begged and cried for them to call for help.

The couple called for help, and drove a panting, terrified Matt back to the creek. He peeled out of the strangers car and saw Shane standing with his face buried in his hand. Jeff was kneeling over a small, crumpled form. Matt went to them, and knelt by Jeff. His brothers lips were pressed to Shannon's trying to breathe life into lungs that were logged with water. Tears blinded Matt, and rolled hotly down his cheeks. He could tell from Shannon's eyes that he was gone, they looked the same as Amy's had as she'd bled out in the car, as Matt had held her cold hand. He buried his face into Shannon's wet chest and sobbed.

The last big loss in his life was still fresh in his mind. He and Ken had been room mates freshmen year, when Matt had lived in the dorms. Things just went from there. They hadn't really gotten to the point of falling in love, but were hovering close to the edges. Now, he would never know. That too had ended in the way that seemed to haunt Matt always.

Now, Chris. God, they'd only known each other for such a short time but—but he was beginning to feel more towards that silly blond than he'd even felt for Ken maybe. Chris felt like he'd always been in Matt's life, that they'd had some phantom connection eve before they'd known one another. It was like there was some Chris-shaped void in his life, just waiting to be filled, and now it was. Chris was one of the most epic people Matt had ever had the pleasure of meeting, and to not have him in his life would have been a sad, sad tragedy. In fact, now he couldn't imagine the house or their group of friends ever feeling complete without Chris there. His chocolate-hued eyes were still running with tears, but when he thought of that ass-clown, his lips curved up into a soft smile.

He knew that Chris found him attractive, and with the bond that was already between them, Matt could see the two of them easily falling into a deeper relationship. The only problem was, he was a bit afraid to do that again. The more you invest, the more there is to lose should it all go south. That thought creased his forehead, drawing his dark eyebrows down. He'd never lived his life based around fear, he'd always been one to take on the moment and live life to the fullest just because of that same reason—that it could all be swept away in a matter of seconds. Still, he couldn't help but be wary at the thoughts that skirted around the fringes of his mind, that maybe he wanted something more from his friend. Maybe he'd just sit back, and just let things play out without him touching it, see what twists and turns the fates had in store. Maybe for once, they would be on his side, and give him someone to hold onto.

~**~

"You're asking me for advice?" Glenn laughed, as he leaned in the bathroom door and watched Chris fiddle with his hair in the full length mirror. He was running a comb through the long, blond tresses, cursing as the teeth tangled at the bleached ends.

"Yeah baldy, I'm asking you. Look," Chris rolled his eyes, and with a rip pulled the comb out of his hair. "You've known him longer than I have. You know him better than I do." This time he used his fingers instead to comb through the soft locks.

"He's a big sushi whore, take him out for Japanese." Glenn suggested. He watched as Chris pulled a brand new shirt out of a bag, and ripped the tags off. He shrugged into the shirt—a button up that was a bright blue—it perfectly matched his eyes. He started on the buttons, but Glenn's hands found his waist and spun him around, and knocked his hands away from the buttons. Glenn took the job over, undoing the ones that Chris had done up, and redoing them. In Chris's anxiety he had been buttoning the shirt up crookedly. "And don't get nervous. It's just Matt, it's not a big deal."

"Psh. I'm not nervous. I'm Chris Jericho, I'm a sex machine!" Chris turned back towards the mirror and started to do poses that made Glenn shake his head and laugh. "And you're too conservative." Chris added, as he popped open the top two buttons on the shirt that Glenn had done up. The V showed off a smooth swatch of tanned chest. "Gotta show some cleavage." Chris joked as he slapped Glenn's chest.

"Ha. Well, if you want to be really liberal, O Hunky Sex Machine, then why don't you just go shirtless and let your pants hang open."

"I thought of that." Chris said seriously, as he swept his hair back into a pony tail. No sooner had he wrapped the band around it, then Glenn pulled it free and spilled the long hair back over his shoulders.

"Leave it down." He said simply. "Sexy." He swatted Chris's ass, then laughing, left him to pose once again in the mirror.

After Chris was satisfied with how he looked, he made the short—yet somehow just then it seemed really long—trek from the bathroom down the hallway to Matt's room. He ducked his head in, and saw Matt sprawled on the bed, his hands crossed at the back of his head. Chris went over to the bed, and crawled onto it. He propped himself up beside Matt, who cocked his head at him, looking over the nice shirt he had on.

"What's the occasion Chris, got a hot date?" It was a miracle to see the blond wearing something other than a ratty band t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans, Matt thought as he looked Chris over. Well, he was still wearing ripped jeans, but they looked good on him. When he looked back at Chris's face, he was smirking.

"Hell, I hope I do!" Chris answered. "This guy's kind of an ass-clown though, so maybe I shouldn't ask him."

"Who?"

"Well, he's got these amazing dark eyes that sparkle like stars at night, and he's got this cute funny looking nose…and his lips are _really_ fucking amazing." With that said, Chris leaned close to Matt and captured his mouth for a gentle caress.

"Me?" Matt asked, as Chris moved his lips away.

"If you wanna."

"I'd love to…but apparently, I'm just some ass-clown." Matt rolled Chris off of him and grabbed the pillow beneath his head, and whacked him with it. "I'll let it slide this time." Matt smiled, as he got up from the bed and sauntered over to the closest.

Chris perched on the bed, hugging the pillow, as he watched Matt strip out of his t-shirt. Grinning, he bit his bottom lip as his eyes roamed over the rippling muscles of Matt's shoulders and back and his slender waist, all covered with olive-tan skin that looked soft and smooth.

"Quit staring." Matt said, a little laughter apparent in his voice, as he kept his back to Chris and rummaged in the closet.

"I'm not staring." Chris pouted.

"Sure." Matt pulled down a white button up shirt that had some sort of black tribal pattern winding across the chest and down one sleeve. He put it on, leaving a V of bare skin just like Chris had. "So, where you taking me, Romeo?" Matt asked, as Chris came over to him, and slipped their fingers together.

"For me to know, and you to find out." Chris responded childishly, sticking his tongue out. Matt burst into laughter, and shoved Chris playfully.

"You're so romantic, Jericho."

"I know."

~***~

_Evilness…decided to leave a cliffie and save the date for the next chapter.  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Thanks for continued reviews. Wow, this one turned out long. But ooh, it was so worth it.**_

Seven

The restaurant was small and cozy, and their table was back in an almost secluded corner. From where they were seated they could see the chefs with tall hats, preparing meals for the other patrons, knives deftly chopping and fire leaping as culinary creations were birthed. Above the tables hung paper lanterns, glowing against the dim evening approaching outside, and filtering in through the windows. On the walls were traditional Japanese art, soft painted colors against silk screens. Some showed Geishas with painted faces and traditional clothing, others vibrant tigers weaving through stalks of bamboo, beautiful red and orangey koi dancing under cobalt waters, and delicate cherry blossoms. On one wall hung a beautiful kimono, with long draping sleeves, and intricate patterns twining over the rich silk colors. In the background, almost as an afterthought, the soft sounds of oriental music wafted gently through the atmosphere.

A waiter came to their table, took their order for drinks, and disappeared. Moments later he brought out two bottles of Japanese beer. They clicked their bottles together, and started up a conversation as they sipped at the pale liquid. It was rather light and clean with a bit of a spicy edge, with no real aftertaste. Matt was talking about Japanese beer and the difference between others, as if he was some beer connoisseur. He'd obviously researched the topic at some point, and it made Chris laugh. He suggested that maybe Matt should be going to culinary school, to which he got a good-natured scowl.

"What Jericho, you think I'm some sort of queer?"

"I was hoping." Chris answered with a wink, and flicked his tongue out at the glass rim of the bottle neck. Matt grinned, and just shook his head.

Next came the appetizer, which Chris scooted over to Matt as soon as it was brought to the table. The dish was shaped like a boat, two set of chopsticks wrapped neatly at each side—inside the boat were rounds of colorful sushi rolls.

"You have to at least try it." Matt said, giving Chris a serious look. He plucked up one set of chopsticks and clicked them together expertly. Using the long utensils, Matt tweezed one of the rolls and moved it towards Chris. Chris scooted back into the corner of the booth as though he was afraid of the harmless food. Matt's smile grew wider, accompanied by a few stray chuckles. "It's good!"

"What's that?" Chris warily pointed. "The…black stuff around it."

"It's seaweed."

"No."

"Chris, it's good for you there's nothing wrong with it. It doesn't even taste bad. It's like, spinach or something. Spinach looks nasty too but it's just a plant."

"I hate spinach." Chris pouted.

"Well, it's really nothing like spinach."

"Make up your damn mind!"

Matt shrugged, and bit into the food himself, making exaggerated faces and sounds about how good it was.

"See?"

"If you're gonna moan like that I'll feed it to you all night."

"Oh, I bet you would." Matt smirked, and plucked up another. "Come on Chris, open up."

The blond shook his head adamantly and like a little child refusing cold medicine, he sealed his lips tightly together.

"Just one bite."

"What's the little tiny red dot-things?" Chris dared to lean forward a little, to look closer at the object held delicately between the chopsticks. There was the seaweed on the outside, like some kind of disturbing gift wrap. Inside was white rice—that was normal enough—in the center was something green and something pinkish, which Matt said was avocado, and fish. Crowning the top of the small delicacy, were tiny reddish things that looked almost like glitter.

"They're…" Matt took a deep breath. "It's seasoning."

Chris narrowed his eyes at the dark haired man, sensing that he was giving a fake ID to whatever that shit really was. After a little more prodding, and a few more orgasmic displays by Matt after he enjoyed one of the rolled up treats, Chris was finally badgered into parting his lips. He looked absolutely hilarious, with his eyes scrunched tightly closed as though that would somehow drown out the taste which he had convinced himself would be vomit-inducing and the oral equivalent to death—or at least coma. Matt laughed as he shoved the morsel into Chris's mouth. The blond chewed, his face instantly morphing into an expression of disgust that seemed cartoonish. Chris grabbed for his napkin to spit into it, but Matt stole it away.

"Swallow!"

"Ugh, I don't swallow I spit!" Chris grimaced, forcing the mouthful down with a shiver. He grabbed the bottle of beer and gulped the rest of it, before slamming it back down on the table. "That was so—so nasty."

"Even in the throes of death…" Matt gasped, laughing hysterically. "You still manage to make perverted innuendos!"

"That's because I'm epic." Chris answered, shuddering again, and grabbing for Matt's beer. He took a couple pulls and sat it back down again, grimacing like a cat whose about to give birth to a hairball of tremendous proportions. "What was that red shit anyway? I know it wasn't any god damn seasoning."

"Oh, just smelt eggs." Matt shrugged, finishing off the last of the appetizer.

"Smelt? What the hell is smelt…do I wanna know?"

"Smelt is a type of fish."

"Matt, I'm never letting you shove anything in my mouth again." Chris stole Matt's napkin, and scrubbed his lips and tongue on it.

"You just remember that later tonight when you're begging for my co--"

Matt was interrupted from finishing the dirty comment, by the waiter who had their entrees. At least this was something more normal. In front of Chris was a plate of thin sliced steak, scallions, and mushrooms in teriyaki sauce, with a side of Japanese noodles. Matt had mango shrimp with bright yellow peppers, tender asparagus rods, and rice. The conversation was easy and fun, and the food was delicious—which had Chris silently thanking God. If the main course tasted as bad as the sushi (how Matt could not only eat it but enjoy it too was beyond him) he was going to throw a tantrum and leave the place with Matt in tow. It turned out they stuck around for desert too, a slice of deep fried cheesecake, which they shared. The wonderful wedge of deep-fried heart-attack was drizzled with fine drips of chocolate. The cheesecake inside was warm and soft and perfect, the outer shell sweet and slightly crispy. Chris was having more fun feeding the bites to Matt, rather than eating it himself. The feel of Matt's soft, full, lips curving and sliding around the fork was as delicious as the desert itself.

The last bite lay forgotten on the plate, the fork cast to the side with chocolate-cream cheese smears on the tines. Chris moved in deftly, and flicked his tongue against Matt's beautiful lips, tasting the lingering flavor of the desert, before nudging and caressing the pink petals with his own. He was more than happy to feel Matt's fingers in his hair, trailing through it. Their tongues slid wet and hot against each other once, and then the kiss was parted.

~*~

They left the restaurant hand and hand, ignoring any quirked eyebrows or strange looks. Matt elbowed Chris when the blond started an exaggerated 'flamboyant' swagger just to be a smart ass, and gained them more glances. They walked around downtown, stopping to stare into store windows, or look at the early Halloween décor posted up—orange and black twirled crepe streamers, paper ghosts, plastic spiders, and that old favorite, the cute little window clings. The autumn air was cool, and gave Chris an excuse to keep huddled fairly close to Matt as they walked, even though he wasn't even cold.

After passing a few window fronts, a coffee shop, and a couple of local art galleries, Chris pulled Matt into a place that had a large sign proclaiming: Adventure Golf. Outside, clearly visible from the sidewalk was a winding miniature golf course with sculptured animals that seemed to need re-painted. Chris bought them two games, one on each course. They grabbed their putters and balls and made their way outside to the first hole. At the fifth hole, with Matt already clearly ahead by an undisclosed landslide—Chris decided to distract the Southerner by humping the leg of the tall giraffe that straddled over that particular green. Matt made the shot within par anyway, and swinging his putter by his side, he grabbed one of Chris's belt loops and tugged him away from the poor assaulted animal.

They bantered back and forth, goofing around as they made their way around the course. Matt continued to pull ahead in a devastating lead, and Chris just blew it off, saying that he wasn't even _trying_ at the game and of course if he was, then he'd be kicking Matt's ass all over the place. Said ass got whapped with the handle of Chris's golf club, making him yelp and hit the small, blue-dotted ball into a water pit. Matt turned to Chris, dropped his club behind him, and pressed the blond up against the backside of a paint-chipped hippo.

"You trying to throw off my game, Jericho?" Matt quipped. "Or do you just like beating ass with your putter?"

"Not at all." Chris grinned, running his fingers up and down Matt's sides. "Why would I wanna do that?" His cobalt eyes sparkled, the glimmer of mischief unmistakable in their depths.

"Because, you're just jealous that I can make a hole-in-one, and you can't." Matt nipped at Chris's lips, then pulled back, as their eyes danced together, noses barely touching.

"I can sink a hole-in-one anytime," Chris half-smiled. "But sometimes I like to let my partner win."

Matt quirked an eyebrow at the Chris, and tried to bite back laughter.

"Oh, really…"

Matt's dark eyes narrowed at the blond, and his lips captured Chris's, engaging them in a hot, sticky battle. Their tongues dueled and teeth clicked, the tight space between them soon growing humid, as skin slicked with light sweat and breath became scarce. Chris's fingers were clenching hungrily into Matt's muscled shoulders, and Matt's hands were gripping Chris's hips as their mouths danced a frantic, quick, rhythm. With a small sigh, Matt moved away from Chris, and smirking, went back to the game.

For a moment, Chris stayed glued to the butt of the hippo, just watching as Matt bent over—and Chris was sure he was teasing him with it—to take a decidedly long time to fish the small ball out of the water trap. Matt won the first game, simply because Chris was acting like a complete goofball the entire time. The second game was quit halfway through, when Chris hit the ball just a _little_ too hard and busted the tail light of a truck parked along the curb.

~**~

By the time the two of them made it home, it was completely dark. They spilled into the living room laughing over something Chris had said while they stood on the porch, with Matt digging around for his house key.

"So, did you have a good time?" Chris asked, as he leaned against the wall, watching Matt kick his shoes off.

"Hell yes." The Southerner replied, almost tripping on one of his shoes.

"Want me to be the gentleman and walk you to your room?" Chris offered his arm, which Matt took, pulling him away from the staircase.

"How 'bout I walk you to the couch and show my appreciation for tonight?"

Without waiting for a reply, and pretty sure that Chris wasn't going to argue, he moved his date towards the couch. They tumbled onto the cushions, Chris taking time only to grunt before pulling Glenn's text book out from under his back. He tossed the thing to the side and it landed open against the wood floor, pages of notes scattering against the varnished planks.

Things quickly became intense, as hands roamed over bodies, quickly fumbling with and peeling off layers of annoying fabric. Clothes were flung and pilled around the room like cotton puddles. They were down to jeans, and those were becoming increasingly tight and uncomfortable for both men as they writhed and grinded against one another. Matt's fingers left Chris's shoulder where they'd been biting and leaving a pattern of bruises. They found and fumbled with Chris's own fly before getting it undone. Chris tilted his hips up so Matt could slide the jeans down to his knees, revealing strong, pretty thighs, and an impressive erection twitching between them.

Matt kissed his way down Chris's body, loving the taste of the other mans slick skin against his tongue and the feel of it rippling with pleasure beneath his lips. He found the base of Chris's hardness and kissed slowly up the length, brushing his tongue faintly against the swelling. When he made his way to the sensitive head he wrapped his lips around it and lulled his wet tongue against it, as he held Chris's hips down to keep him from bucking up. Chris's fingers wrapped in his hair, pulling, and tearing at the wet curls.

"Ah, Ma-Matt p-plea-ease!" Chris panted, his voice sounding like a whiney plea.

The desperation in Chris's voice, words, and body was serving to only make Matt harder—whether his neediness was from lack of getting any (which Matt really didn't believe, the guy was not only gorgeous but an amazing person anyway) or because it was just his nature—Matt didn't care. It was fucking hot. It was fucking hot as—

"Ma-Matt…stop." Chris went completely still, suddenly. Even his panting breath had lurched to a quiet hold of anxiety. Matt swirled his tongue once more around Chris's throbbing head, then looked up, his lips wet with saliva and pre-cum.

"What, you getting shy all of a sudden?"

"Something…somethings moving, don't you feel it?"

In the low light of the room, Matt could see that Chris's hot face had gone pale, and his eyes were wide. His breathing was quickening again, but not because of arousal: because of panic.

"Something's moving i-in the couch!"

With a quick flip, Chris dumped them onto the floor. Matt's head thuncked against the floor, and Chris sat on his hips. For a few silent moments, they stayed there, frozen in the awkward position and enveloping quietness. At last, Matt sat up, with Chris still in his lap, and stroked his back.

"Chrissy, there's nothing in the couch."

"Don't do that! Don't touch my back, there was something like—like bugs crawling all over—are there bugs on me?" Chris fidgeted, slapping Matt's hands away from his shoulders.

"Chris, there's nothing on you, and there's nothing in the couch. Look, I'll show you."

Matt moved towards the couch, as Chris got to his feet and tugged his jeans up. He moved closer to Matt, biting back the urge to caution him. He peered around Matt's shoulder, hesitantly, as Matt tossed one of the throw pillows aside, then turned on a lamp. The room was doused in a warm glow, and Matt motioned at the bug-free cushions.

"See? No creepy-crawlies."

Chris felt stupid, insanely stupid. Not only had he interrupted hot sex, but he'd made a fool of himself, and still in the pit of his stomach he _knew_ that he hadn't imagined it. He blinked at the stained cushions, waiting for something, anything, but there was nothing. He chewed his lip a few moments, then hesitantly reached towards the couch. He plucked away one of the cushions, thinking the phantom bugs—no, they were _real_ bugs something horrible like roaches or giant fanged-spiders—had slipped between the cracks. When that didn't reveal anything, he reached for the middle one. His fingers disappeared between the remaining two cushions, ready to pull it away and reveal to Matt an insectoid beasty. His hand curled around the cushion _then something curled around his hand._

"Matt!" Chris cried out, as he lurched forwards, something in the couch pulled him down. God, a fucking hand in the couch! Chris's mind screamed, as he felt the unmistakable, terrible, bony-cold grip of one-two-three-four-five long digits. "Matt get it off me!" He shrieked, pulling frantically, but the thing just pulled him further, his arm being yanked in up to the elbow.

"Chris, come on man. Quit playing." Matt rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm not fucking playing Matthew, I'm not fucking playing!" Chris tugged and yanked, the hand had now become _two_ hands, and he was being pulled further, the joint of his elbow crackling and screaming in pain as it was stressed.

"Chris, come on, stop it!" Matt grabbed Chris around the waist, intent on lifting him up in his arms and carting him off to bed. Instead, he found that there was some sort of resistance, and a frigid chill shot up and down his spine. "Chris, this isn't fucking funny—let go!"

Chris was screaming incoherently, if any of the others would have been in the house rather than out carousing, they would have all been awake and hurtling down the stairs to see what the commotion was. Matt wrapped his arms around Chris's torso and pulled on him, now aggravated, and half-convinced (though he wanted to be anything but) that something _was _going on.

"I swear if this is some joke--"

Matt glanced down at the cushions where Chris's arm was disappeared to, and what he saw almost made his heart skitter up into his throat, along with his dinner. Something was moving against the flap of material that hung down at the bottom of the couch, like a duster, and then he saw it—but he couldn't have seen _that._ It looked like the tip of a gnarled finger, and there was—fuck it was _scratching_ at the god damn floor! Now both of them were screaming and bawling like terrified children.

"Let go of him you son-of-a-bitch!"

Matt screamed, nearly deafening Chris, who at the moment didn't care about the state of his eardrum. His blue eyes were rolling like the wide-eyes of a horse that's been spooked, his face was frozen into an expression of pure fear. _Scratch-scritch-scritch._ The fingers under the couch skittered and tapped, scrabbled and rapped. They slid out, towards Chris's foot, and with a cry Matt brought his heel down on one of the fingers, the feel of a bunched knuckle crunching under his weight victorious. No sooner had he injured that one, than three more slithered out, gray and writhing knobby hands, with impossibly long fingers—more like claws or talons. Two wrapped around Chris's left ankle, one around his right. Whatever had been pulling his wrist let go, and before Matt could get a better grip around Chris the seeking, horrible, impossible, hands pulled Chris to the floor.

The back of Chris's head connected with the rounded edge of the coffee table on the way down, though he wasn't even aware of the pain or the thin trickle of blood. His nails bit into the polished wood of the floor, desperately clinging for some sort of purchase. His nails were only ripped and torn as the strength of these phantom demon-hands dragged him towards the couch. His screams were raw and ragged as he struggled against them, kicking and bucking. With the cry of a warrior, Matt lunged towards the grappling fiends, with the fire poker raised over his head. He brought the impromptu weapon down hard into the slimy looking back of one of the hands. There was a strange, piercing, shriek as Matt jerked the biting spear free. The hand recoiled, and Matt brought the iron poker down again and again jabbing it at each greedy finger and hand until Chris was able to get away. The blond stumbled towards the corner of the room, shivering against the wall, as Matt watched the dark hands disappear back from where they had came, a few broken nails scraping against the wood, a couple smears of blood left against the grain.

The poker clattered to the floor, and Matt backed away. His naturally dark complexion was a milky white, his mouth hung open in an 'O' of shock.

"N-n-not real!" He mumbled, pulling at his hair. "Not real. It's not real, it wasn't real it can't be!"

He bolted into the kitchen, and leaned over the sink, feeling sick to his stomach. He heaved a couple times, but nothing came up. With a little whimper, he shakily reached for the faucet and turned it on cold, then splashed his face. After he was cooled down a little, he leaned against the counter, still trying to catch his breath and somehow wipe away the impossibility that he had just seen—and stabbed with a god damn fire poker.

Chris came in, his steps unsteady, his legs feeling like water beneath him.

"Why'd you do that!" Matt shouted, turning on him, and laying a hard slap across his cheek before he could even think. He quickly drew his hand away, and looked at it as though it had betrayed him.

Chris just shook his head. He hadn't even flinched at the slap, it was as if he hadn't felt it at all.

"Stop it Chris, stop playing!"

"I—I'm not play--"

"Just stop it!" Matt screamed. Chris snarled, and pressed him against the counter.

"Does this look like a game to you?" Chris brought his forearm just inches in front of Matt's face. In the moonlight, the Southerner could make out distinct bruising.

"No…n-no it ca-can't!"

"There's something in the couch." Chris whispered. "There's something in the house…" He huddled closer to Matt, pressing his face into his chest.

"No. No! There's nothing in the house…it's impossible!" Matt's voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. He refused, _refused_ to believe this. "Let's just go to bed."

Matt steered Chris up the stairs, and to his room. In the hallway they lingered, neither wanting to part ways and be alone now, yet neither wanted to ask the other to stay. They just stood trembling, Chris worrying his lip, Matt's eyes darting around trying to look anywhere but Chris's anxious face.

"Matt--"

"Chris?"

There was a long silence.

"Night Matt." Chris finally said.

"Goodnight."

Reluctantly, they parted ways.

Matt quickly sprinted for his bed, and cocooned in the covers, his head buried under them like child playing out that old standby: If you can't see them, they can't see you. Chris sat in the middle of his bed, sure not to let any part of his body be too close to the edges. The lamp next to his bed was turned on to its brightest level, and he had no plans of turning it off that night. Downstairs, Glenn, Christian, and Adam tripped over each other as they drunkenly climbed the stairs. Christian stumbled into his room once they'd made it up to the second floor, Adam locked himself in the bathroom, and Glenn walked into Jeff's room, before realizing his mistake and making it down to his own. Three of them slept soundly from too much alcohol that night, while two of them didn't sleep a wink.

~***~


	8. Chapter 8

_**Apologize for the lag in updates on EVERYTHING I was just having huge, long, annoying, writers block. Also, I had a Piper muse running rampant and shoving everything else out of my mind. He's still running around here, but I've managed to get past his craziness and the block, finally! If it makes up for it, this chapter turned out kind of long. :) It didn't want to end, and I had to shut it up before it went even longer. Maybe that just means I'll have another chapter up soon! I hope so! Thanks for still reading and reviewing :D**_

**EIGHT**

Chris and Matt spoke to each other in low, secretive tones in the kitchen. They were huddled around the sink like two old hens in a corner at church, gossiping about the Pastor's wife, or that cute widower with money, or the way that slutty little so-and-so girl had gotten herself pregnant, and not even married at that! If only some of those things would have held their conversation, but even those "juicy" topics were much less weighty than what they were actually discussing. Chris popped the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt, and gently pushed up the sleeves. The action revealed to Matt the finger-pattern bruises wrapped around his wrists and forearms.

"They're on my ankles too." Chris spoke, his voice no more than a nervous whisper.

He ran his fingers through his long, bleached hair, watching as Matt's eyes stared hard at him. He could practically see the wheels of thought turning Matt's mind, as he tried to figure out a reasonable explanation, each one being tossed out again and again until there were no rational hypotheses left. Sure, Matt could have left the marks on Chris. It would have been easy for Matt to convince himself that they'd gotten more carried away last night than he remembered—the only problem was—no matter how badly Matt wanted to unsee those reaching, scrabbling, boney fingers he couldn't. They were still too clear in his mind, and the eerie lavender cuffs Chris was sporting was just proof. As if he needed more evidence of last night's hallucinogenic vision (it had to be a double hallucination, right?) there were the tired, red-veined eyes that mirrored his own sans the beautiful oceanic irises.

It was obvious that neither had gotten much sleep last night, if any at all. Chris even still wore the same clothes he'd had on last night, though he'd unbuttoned his shirt and left it hanging undone showing a peek of his toned chest and abs. Matt had found a little more presence of mind to change clothes, and was just wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt, with a white bandana on his head. Matt took Chris's hand in his, and ran his fingertips softly over the bruises. The ticklish action sent a shiver through Chris that they both felt.

"I never did get to finish thanking you for our date." Matt said quietly, resting his hand against Chris's cheek, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Chris's, enjoying the response and softness of them molded perfectly to his.

"You thanked me more than enough." Chris said between kisses, slipping his fingers to the back of Matt's neck where he stroked the smooth skin and downy, dark, curls. "Question is, do I get a second date?" Chris smirked, as Matt's warm, wet, lips hovered over his.

"As many as you want." Matt said, as his full and pretty mouth curved at the edges.

Matt moved his hands down Chris's body until they came to slide into the back pockets of his jeans and rest against the perfect roundness underneath the denim. There was no rush, no desperation in their actions, just slow, enjoyable, touches. The sensations of the unhurried, caressing, hands and lips made both men feel warm not just in that usually responsive location, but all over. Their wanderings could have led further, driven by lust for one another, but they seemed content to stay as they were, holding onto each other, and sharing chaste kisses.

Matt only stopped when Chris's lips went still beneath his. He prodded them a few times, wetly pursuing the precious petals, but they stayed unmoving. Chris's fingers kneaded gently at the back of Matt's neck, as the stance was parted to allow just enough room for speaking with hushed voices.

"What's wrong?" Matt asked. One of his hands left its comfortable spot inside Chris's pocket, and moved up to cup his face, the thumb brushing against his lips.

"I just…can't get out of my head what happened last night. It would make me feel a lot better to know we'd both been drunk, but…we weren't."

Chris's sparkling cobalt eyes held Matt's chocolatey ones, seeming to search for some kind of answer that they didn't have to give.

"I don't know…you know what? Let's go put this to rest once and for all. I'm going to show you that what happened last night couldn't have possibly happened." Matt stated, planting a firm kiss to Chris's lips, as though that was the end punctuation for his decisive decree.

Chris was a little less convinced than Matt had hoped him to be. He could tell by the way one of Chris's fair eyebrows quirked just slightly, and the other eye squinted just enough to show that there was a trace of doubt. If Matt was honest with himself, he had his doubts as well. He kept telling himself again and again in his head—just like he had while he was spending all last night awake and staring wide eyed at the ceiling—that the scene of skeletal hands clutching at his new found boyfriend was just plain impossible.

Even so, Chris followed Matt into the living room. He stopped a few feet away from the couch as Matt approached it. He wanted to reach out for Matt's wrist, grab it, and pull the dark-haired man back from the awful beast. His hand even moved to do so, and he stepped forward prepared for the action, but then he fell back and forced his hands into his pockets to keep them from doing so. He shuffled nervously, raking his lip between his teeth as Matt grabbed one of the cushions, shook it, and tossed it to the floor. Nothing was disturbed but a small puff of dust floating up and out against the rays of early morning sun filtering through the windows. That made Chris shiver, and his eyes flitted to each window in the room. His fingers which were buried in his pocket gave a singular dull throb; a phantom reminder that those too had once offended him. He could almost hear them all slamming in gun-burst succession, one after the other, clamoring down against their sills, bursting the panes into shards of cutting ice--

"Ma-Matt…" Chris stumbled over the simple monosyllable.

Matt didn't answer him. He was lost in concentration on what he was doing. All three of the ugly couch cushions were on the floor, with the mismatched throw pillows that had also joined them in their haphazard positions. Matt's hands were roaming over the bareness of the seat, searching for anything unusual. Chris moved a bit closer, feeling increasingly stupid for being so on edge about nothing more than a piece of old tired furniture. He could see nothing eerie about it at all. There was just the usual litter of things that had fallen between the cushions, into that abyss where they remained lost, until someone like Matt got the urge to search for The Boogeyman.

"Help me turn it over." Matt said, glancing over his shoulder at Chris.

The blond reluctantly stood before the couch, and placed his hands on it. He felt the need to keep his toes away from the ruffle of fabric at the bottom, and he was certain that at any moment there would be the familiar disturbed sound of bone scratching wood. Matt counted three, and on three they toppled the demon onto its back. Matt stooped over to inspect the underbelly of the furniture, and Chris found himself moving to the rectangle of dust covered wood where the thing had sat. He knelt down and ran his hand through the sheet of dirt and film, stirring it up until his eyes watered and his nose itched from it. A sneeze built painfully, but refused to climax. Chris sniffled, and coughed, still moving his palms over the boards. There was nothing. With a sigh of what was more frustration than relief, he moved from his knelt position to his rear, and sat with his legs pulled up to his chest, his chin resting on his knees, as he watched Matt make a thorough investigation.

"What's this?"

The simple question startled both Matt and Chris, who at first failed to recognize the voice. They'd both been too wrapped up in what they were doing to comprehend its tone and texture at first.

"Geeze, jumpy." Glenn said, laughing.

Chris sneezed, and rubbed at his nose, only succeeding in smearing a trail of grime over his face. Matt helped Chris up from his spot on the floor, and pulled his bandana off his head to wipe the smudge away.

"So, as I asked before, what's up with this? You guys lose a condom in the couch?" Glenn chuckled.

"It's not funny!" Chris snapped.

"Hey, sorry! I didn't mean anything by it." Glenn threw his hands up with palms out in an innocent gesture.

"I'm sorry, I'm just tired." Chris sniffled, ending his apology in another sneeze. Matt smiled, and wiped his nose for him as though he was a little boy incapable of doing it himself. Glenn resisted another smart-ass comment about just _why_ Chris was so tired, because it was obvious that Matt was bushed too.

"As for the couch thing," Chris continued. "…um…Matt lost his, eh…watch and we were looking for it."

What was he supposed to say: We were checking for monsters, assclown?

There was a strange hush among the three of them. Chris's explanation was less than honest, and it was easily see-through as he'd stuttered most of it looking as nervous a guy getting ready to pop the question. Matt's dark eyes also gave away that something was not quite right, and Glenn narrowed his own at the couple. He had a strange feeling that the three of them knew something similar, something none of them wanted to quite believe. It was a very vague inkling, and it made Glenn suddenly think about his lap top, and the rivulets of blood oozing and winding out from between the keys. He shivered. They still stayed quiet.

Chris and Matt watched the bigger man, as he seemed to be contemplating something important to say. He opened his mouth to say it, but was cut off by stomping on the stairs. The three of them simultaneously looked to the stair case. Jeff was hopping down it, seeming in a much more pleasant and cheery mood than the trio. Chris and Matt were standing close to one another, and in some kind of pinch of instinct, Chris twined his fingers with Matt's. He just felt the need to suddenly touch him, and bind them in that simple way, as though some point needed to be proved just then.

Jeff moved past them, paying none of them attention, and perched himself on the stool that was sat at the wall he was working on painting. He dug around in a bag that bore various patches and pins to its army-green flesh, and brought out the things he needed, and went to work with the paints and brushes.

~x~

The house was filled and unfilled with various amounts of traffic during the day. Glenn vacated and was gone most of the time. Once he left for campus, he was normally closeted there most of the day roaming from class to class, playing pet to the head of the department, catching pick-up game of b-ball, or doing drills with the team. Adam was in and out grumbling as he dropped a stack of job applications on the table, having been fired from his last one for "being overly charming" as he put it, which really meant that he couldn't keep his grabby hands or his suggestive comments to himself. His date with the workforce didn't last very long. He left with a couple of finished applications folded on the table, another half-assed one splayed out, and the rest of the ridiculous stack blank, unable to hold his attention. He brushed past Matt, saying something about going by the gym and seeing if Glenn was there. Matt imagined the blonde sitting on the metal bleachers, his elbows propped on his knees, and his chin rested in his hands. His eyes were probably filled with that dreamy love-struck fog as his gaze followed Glenn's movements over the court.

Christian was also in and out, dragging a few dark looking creatures after him. Matt couldn't even tell if they were male or female, or maybe one of each. They looked like they'd stepped off of a newspaper, looking like nothing but stark black-and-white contrast with their lank, inky hair, and pale faces. He seemed to usually be attracted to such types, as they matched the brunt of his personality.

Chris, who Matt was quickly starting to think of as his "other half", was at work for everyone's favorite creepy clown and golden arches. Matt thought about pulling into the drive-thru later on and harassing his guy by demanding a Whopper and a Frosty. Then again, today was probably not the greatest day to bother him. He'd looked exhausted when he'd came back from classes just long enough to change his clothes, and head out again to the wonderful world of fast-food. Matt had tried to persuade him to skip one of his classes, or maybe two, and come have a cuddle and a nap with him. Chris said that he couldn't though. He'd been playing around a little more than he should, and his midterm grades weren't so great. Matt would have loved to just hold him though, and maybe stroke his long, golden hair until he drifted off to sleep. Damn it, he was doing it again. He was falling, and fast.

He leaned back over the stair rail and watched Jeff for a while, the sweeps and strokes of his brush, and the blending of the colors. His brother never ceased to amaze him. His mind was full of ideas, beautiful things that spilled out onto paper, canvas, through paintbrushes, pencils, markers, anything that could create—even the guitar he'd loved so much until it had been stolen. Jeff was a genius on many levels, the tests they'd ran him through as a kid, all the hoops they'd tossed him through, all the doctors that had held up inkblots, and booklets full of questions, had been in disbelief at what he was capable of. He'd learned over the years to hide most of it away though.

There were nights the brothers had spent, when Jeff crawled into Matt's bed crying softly, and they'd talked late into the morning. The endless doctors, prodding, poking, questions, pictures, it soon became too much. They pushed too hard, and Jeff's 'episodes' of just shutting down became more frequent, and longer lasting. He was always tired, always weary. Once their mother got sick, she stopped taking him to all the doctors with their psycho-babble. She had medical concerns of her own to worry about, rather than what was going on in the unfathomable depths of her younger sons complex mind.

After she passed, the doctor visits ceased all together. Their father saw no sense in it, and Jeff was doing much better when he wasn't being caged like a lab rat, so there were no more tests. He was put into regular school, with regular kids, in classes matched to his age, and when he needed an outlet for the constant chaos in his head, he spilled it out in art, and music. It seemed like the best way to deal with Jeff, to ignore his potential, and let him be as normal as he could. The less strain, the less shut-down, and that was what really mattered. Matt remembered a time when he was taken to the hospital to visit Jeff. He was still and seemingly lifeless, his small body laid amidst sterile looking white sheets. Monitors and things were hooked to him, and they said he'd been "sleeping" for days, and they weren't sure if he'd come out of it or not. He was just a fucking kid, just eight years old, and they could have unknowingly forced his brilliant, unbridled mind, into shutting down for good.

Sometimes, Matt forgot just how strong, and how equally as fragile Jeff was. He was just glad that part of life was behind them, well, at least he'd thought it was. But then, it had happened the other day. Matt had got to thinking, wondering what might have triggered it. For someone of Jeff's ability his classes were nothing. In fact, he seemed bored with them sometimes. He really didn't need to be here, in college, but he'd mostly come just to be with his brother, and Matt realized that. Their bond was a close one, and Matt had a feeling that Jeff would always be tagging along with him no matter where life took him, and that was okay because Matt had always been about protecting him. Matt had always held him in the darkness of night when he was afraid of going to the doctor the next day, had always wiped away his tears when he cried because of some painful test they performed, had always kissed the needle marks on his pale arms, from where they'd pricked and planted things into his body, to further their stupid studies.

Matt stopped short, having walked over to where Jeff sat without even realizing it. He'd been too lost in his thoughts, and had just migrated over there. He wrapped his arms around Jeff's torso, pulling him close, feeling the bony blades of his shoulders poke into his chest as he tightened the hug. Matt smiled, his lips curving against the unique hair—this week it was dyed only one color, a deep, grape shade that contrasted strikingly with his emerald eyes. They were always piercing, always seeming to see beyond what was physical, and into some other plane that was only opened to him. Matt shivered. Jeff placed his paper plate with its dollops of paint—a makeshift pallet—and his brush into his lap. His hands curled around the arms that held him, and the fabric of the arm socks that he wore brushed against Matt's skin. Jeff sighed, and his body relaxed and easily melded against his brothers.

"You doing ok Jeff?"

Jeff shivered. Matt had moved a little, and when he'd spoke, his breath ghosted across Jeff's ear. He managed to swallow away the moan that wanted to crawl up his throat, as his breath hitched at the contact. The warm, wet, ticklish feel of it trickled down his spine and flowered hotly between his legs. He shifted on the stool, waiting a moment before speaking, although when he did his voice still sounded husky.

"Yeah, fine Matty." He answered, rolling his head back to rest on Matt's shoulder. The ivory column of his neck was exposed purposefully, since his hair was caught up in a bun, and he just wished that Matt's lips would touch the sensitive skin, and slip lightly up and down his pulse. He closed his eyes and imagined the soft petals dancing against the quickening hum of his heartbeat as it whooshed through every artery, vein, and blood-coursing capillary in his excited body. He could feel the velvet wetness of the tip of Matt's tongue, flicking out to glide over the skin and taste it, the sharp point of his eye teeth scratching lightly.

Matt pulled him backwards, off the stool. He opened his eyes suddenly finding himself on his feet, his plate of paints and the brush they'd been smeared on toppled to the floor. His legs could barely support him at first, the contact—both real and imagined—of his brother having made his knees go weak. Luckily, he was supported against Matt's wide chest, and within his strong arms.

"Jeff!" The concern in Matt's voice was evident by the one, exclaimed word. His arms loosened around Jeff's torso and his sturdy hands went to Jeff's hips in attempts to steady him. "Are you sure you're okay? Maybe you should rest."

Jeff's hand moved over one of Matt's, cupping it as the fingers molded onto his hip. He wanted to badly to move that hand over to his front, to slip it beneath the barrier of his pants, to feel it gripping and pulling at his needy flesh. He drew in a frantic gulp of air, trying to get a hold of his senses, and get some function back to his legs. Matt took the choked gasp as a sign of trouble, and pulled Jeff over to the couch, and forced him to lie down. The pad of Matt's hand pressed to his forehead.

"You're cheeks are red, you're hot…Jeff do you have a fever?"

Jeff blinked up at him, through clouding eyes. His lips pulled up into a lazy smile. _Yes Matt, I have a fever, a fever for you, and it's hottest…down here…_ He moved Matt's hand away from his face.

"No, I don't have a fever."

"Man, you're burning up!" Matt paid no attention to Jeff's insistence that he was ok. What Matt could see and feel told him otherwise. "Let's get you cooled off a little."

Matt tugged one of Jeff's arm socks off and tossing it to the floor, followed closely by the other. Next, his fingers went for the hem of Jeff's shirt, and Jeff gasped again when he felt those fingers brush unintentionally over the button on his pants. The shirt came up and over his head, and was discarded onto the wood flooring. Jeff's mind was running away with him, twisting the scene into something a lot more lucid than just a concerned, unknowing, brother attempting to help the younger one find comfort, and relief from a problem he had sorely misdiagnosed. Matt took Jeff's hand, and stretched out one of his arms, softly tracing the tips of his fingers over the satiny skin.

"I can still see the scars." Matt said lowly, his warm eyes tearing up a little at the memory. He could only imagine what Jeff must have endured because of his gift. He hated how much Jeff had been used, exploited, de-fucking-humanized into nothing more than an exhibit to ogle at.

"Remember how you…you used to-to kiss them?" Jeff asked, breathily.

Jeff's flashing eyes latched onto his brothers' earthy ones, capturing them. He forced the tears to prick at his eyes, to build, and spill over his lashes and wet his face. In reality, he could care less about those prick doctors who had been the bane of his childhood. He disliked them all, yes, but he never wasted his time crying over them. He only did it now because he wanted those lips to touch him so desperately, and because he knew how to manipulate his brother. His display of tears was most likely hurting Matt, bothering him deeply, when Jeff didn't even care. It worked like a charm, the unspoken, wished, desire making itself reality as Matt brought Jeff's wrist to his mouth and kissed the tiny, twisted scars. With each kiss pressed to his flesh, the heat coursing through his body burned hotter and hotter, burning through his nerves, and sending steady rushes of blood that aching place the stretched the zipper of his pants until he was sure the seam would tear. His hands were squirming to touch himself, and even more—to guide one of Matt's hands there and press it to the straining fabric. Jeff whimpered pitifully, and Matt drew him closer.

"Shhh, it's okay." He soothed, thinking that Jeff was going back in his mind to those unpleasant times. "I'm here Jeffy, just like always."

"Ma-Matt."

Jeff wrapped his arms like a vice around Matt, burying his face into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling deep of the familiar and exotic scent, and loving the brush of the dark curls against his nose. Suddenly, the tears that leaked slowly from the corners of his eyes became something more than false. He closed his eyes and nuzzled the shoulder that was offered him, feeling the t-shirt fabric dampen and stick to his cheek.

"I gotta go." Jeff said quietly, sniffing his nose. He pulled away from his brother, even though Matt protested. Matt didn't know the real reason for his tears, sadly. He wanted Matt to know so badly, but he knew that Matt would be repulsed. He feared that his brother would never look at him the same way, that they would grow apart—Jeff would never, _never,_ allow anything to break them apart. He untwined himself from Matt, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Jeff locked the door behind him, and avoided meeting his fountain-eyes in the mirror. He quickly shimmied out of his pants, and let them pool around his feet, as he touched himself. Even still, it just wasn't the same. He didn't want to feel his own hands. He tensed when he heard the jangle of the locked knob, and he knew it was Matt even before the voice came muffled through the door.

"Jeff, man open the door…are you okay?"

The knob jangled again, it twisted, to no avail and Jeff conjured the jerky movements of Matt's hand clenched around his aching member instead of the cold, unresponsive door knob.

"Jeff!"

With a frustrated growl he yanked his pants up, almost tripping over them as he moved the short space to the door. He pressed his hand to the wood grain and tried to steady himself, the familiar dizzy, unsteady feeling washing over him in waves. His mind was racing, screaming, drowning him in a raging, storming, sea. He closed his eyes and tried to calm it a little, but Matt's voice tore through the attempt.

"What!" Jeff snarled, as he tore the door open and stomped towards his older brother, forcing him to back up and almost fall backwards as he moved clumsily. "What the fuck Matt, what! What, what what what what! Do you want!" His brother's lower back collided with the couch, and Jeff stepped on his toes, and wrapped one hand tightly around his chin. "Speak Matthew, what is it?"

"I—Jeff I—I'm just worried about you."

Jeff tilted his head to the side, his lashes blinking over his fiery eyes, as his mouth drew up at one side into a strange smile.

"You should." He let go of his brother's face, and patted the bruising cheek. "You should Matty, I'm sick…" He moved towards the stairs, walking backwards on wobbly legs. "I'm sick. I'm gonna go lie down." Jeff turned, and stumbled his way up the stairs.

"Jeff—wait…I want to ask you something." Matt bounded up the few steps Jeff had already taken, and touched his elbow.

"Make it quick, I can see the darkness edging in." He pressed his palm to his forehead, the pain behind it making his ears throb.

"Have you noticed anything um, strange going on around here? Uh, you know like--paranormal?"

"Paranormal? No. The only thing strange I see around here is named Chris, and the fact that you're falling for him like a lost puppy follows around the first idiot it sees on the street!"

Matt rolled his eyes, but let it go. Jeff was leaning heavily on the stair railing, his skin getting paler, his eyes fighting to stay opened.

"Let me help you." Matt looped an arm around Jeff's thin waist, but he pulled away from it.

"I got it." Jeff slurred, as he weaved up the rest of the stairs like a drunk.

Matt just shook his head. He didn't know what to do. He felt as if things in his life were beginning to orbit out of his control, and that was a feeling he hated more than anything else.

~xx~


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: So, I owe you all an explanation b/c I haven't updated anything chaptered forever! I'm not being lazy, there's just been a lot of things going on. I had some health issues going on, docs, etc, plus long hours at work. Quit that job, was on the search for a new one, and finally got one. I've now had more crazy hours, but at least I love what I'm doing now! So I haven't had that much free time, and with the free time that I have had I haven't been able to get into the frame of mind that I have to be in to do these updates. I'm not abandoning any of my stories even though I have felt like it before. I just can't. Just know that my updates on things will most likely take a while, but don't doubt that they will happen. Thanks for those of you who continue to read and review. Much love! Enjoy. _

**NINE**

Jeff had been holed up in his room since the confrontation with Matt earlier that day. _Jeff, do you have a fever? Man you're burning up! _ Matt's words replayed through his slowed mind. The cracks in the ceiling were blurred, as he looked up at them from his back flat on the bed, and gray crept in around the edges of his hazy vision. The discomfort in his lower, swollen, region seemed to have spread to his head, because there seemed to be an unbearable pressure expanding and threatening to explode the plates of his skull. The pain was close to unbearable, and each slow blink of his eyes or inhalation of breath only caused both aches to throb harder. Each time his heavy lids closed over the intelligent, lost, eyes double drips trailed from the corners and made puddles in his ears.

By now, Jeff should have been used to the misery his brother unknowingly caused him but it had been a plague he had never been able to shake, or surrender to. He couldn't act upon his writhing desires, except only to let them run free and vivid through his unique mind. Sometimes he wasn't sure whether doing so made things any better, or just worst. The visions and sordid scenes he was able to conjure were so very close to the real thing, but still he knew they were just fantasies that would be gone when he cleared his mind of them. It was like looking at a reflection in the mirror: the face and the expression on the surface is identical to the one which is looking into the glass. The only difference is, the reflection doesn't feel the wet warmth of the tears running down the pale cheeks, or the anger that churns in the lookers belly, pricking and piercing, like shards of glass.

Behind the darkness of the closed eyes Jeff tried to expel the emotions away: the lust, the rage, the despair at never being able to satisfy the overwhelming need that possessed him. None of it however, would go away. It never really did. Sometimes he wished that he was still a child, unaware of adult urges that twisted him, but then again a physical need for his brother was not the only issue, that part just gave him a new and taboo way in which he needed his brother.

He closed his eyes tighter, and pressed a clammy palm to his forehead. The mind behind his skull, behind those flashing emerald eyes, was like a fishing reel spun too tight and at any moment the thin, fragile, line was going to snap and everything was going to unravel. All of the knotted and stretched taut chord would just fall away into a loose mess of plastic thread and the pain and tension would all be relieved. He knew, however, that it wouldn't happen that way. His mind never really got to the unraveling point, much to his dismay, because surely it would have made every fiber of his body relax and sigh with the release. It never did, it just wound and wound until it sent itself into a forced-shut down and a cold darkness. He could see it coming for him once more, the gray, shadowy fingers creeping in. He could smell the metallic twang of blood in his nose, and taste it dripping down the back of his throat, and before his racing, troubled, mind finally pulled the plug on itself, he could feel the hot trickle slip from one hole of his nose and trail over his lips.

~x~

Matt sat at the end of Chris's bed, his legs crossed and folded up. He spun a midnight-colored curl tightly around his finger, and then let it go and watched it bounce back like a spring. Chris watched too, his cobalt eyes trained on the movement, before they flicked back to Matt's face, which was wearing a clear mask of worry. His dark brows were knitted together and his usually soft brown eyes were darkened with the traces of deep thought. His plump, shapely lips were pressed together so tightly that they almost seemed thin, which was a feat in itself.

"Matty," Chris crawled closer towards Matt, and sat in front of him, mirroring Matt's Indian-style seating arrangement. Their knees touched, and Chris leaned forward to press his forehead to Matt's for a moment, and then in a copy-cat action his lips gently pressed to Matt's. "What's wrong, beautiful?"

Matt shook his head, the loose curls swaying and hopping around his face.

"Just Jeff. That kid worries me." His voice dropped off for a moment, and he raised his bowed head, and his eyes narrowed and the colored parts flicked from one corner to the other, before locking with Chris's. "And the house. I mean, the…strange things that've been goin' on. It's just that Jeff hasn't had these problems for some time now, and if something…is…if the house…maybe whatever's messing with us is messing with Jeff too. But see, my brother's mind is different from most peoples and y'know, what if something really bad is here, and it's messing with Jeff _worse_ than us." Matt bit into his lip, and then shook his head again. "It's not possible though. It…it isn't logical, right?"

Matt's eyes wanted Chris's mouth to speak and reassure him that yes, it wasn't logical, but that would have been a lie. Despite Matt's hope for the comfort of reason, he knew that a mirrored denial of the possibility was just as much a lie as it would have been to say that the sky was red. The place Matt and Chris were beginning to find themselves in was one that defied logic, and reasoning of the human mind. Matt knew that he was going to have to let go of his denial, because you can't deny that you're a man when you look down and see a penis between your legs—it's there, and that's all there is to it. Matt shuddered, his eyes once more darting around the small room as though it had ears to hear all, and creepy, beady little eyes to see it as well.

"Logic and possibility are really different, Matty." Chris finally spoke. "They don't need each other to exist, is what I mean. Something can be possible without it having any rhyme or reason. That's why the impossible is so fucking scary when it's seen, because we want to think that there's nothing out there that we can't look up, or research, or put in a lab and dissect, or wrap our minds around. That's why those things that go bump in the night send ice up and down our spines, because we know we locked the doors, because we know it's impossible for something to be there, but we _heard_ the impossible fingers knocking on the door."

"Chris!" Matt shuddered, and wrapped his arms around himself. "God, you're freaking me the hell out!"

"It's true." Chris said, his voice lowered to a whisper, and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Suddenly, he wanted to hold Matt very close, as much for his own comfort as to comfort Matt.

"Do you remember that movie TommyKnockers?" Matt asked, almost hesitantly. "It was a Stephen King thing."

Chris slowly nodded his head, and in an eerie voice repeated a line from the sci-fi classic. In the way that he spoke it, it came out more frightening than the movie had ever actually relayed it. His eyes were wide, his voice shivery and breathy in a barely-whisper as the words trembled from his lips.

"All last night, and the night before…" Chris's eyes slowly moved from Matt's frozen, paled face, to the closed door of the room. "TommyKnockers, TommyKnockers, knockin' at the door."

Suddenly, as if the mantra had been some real invocation, the door flung wide and both men shrieked. Matt nearly plunged off the edge of the bed in a startled panic and flail of limbs, but Chris grabbed onto his wrist and kept him from a fate with the wooden floor.

"Hey guys!" Adam bounded into the room, and flung himself onto the bed with a wide smile, which only slowly melted away when he finally noticed the fear whitely etched on the two faces he'd bounced in on.

"Fuck, Adam!" Chris hollered. He grabbed a pillow from behind him and with an unbridled force whammed it into Adam's head, his face twisted in a scowl as his heart continued to pummel his chest and ears with a rapid thunder. He and Matt let out twin sighs of relief that at least this time their fears were proven to be a joke, which was played on them by an unsuspecting and unfunny jester.

"What!" Adam pushed Chris back into the headboard, making it bump against the wall. "What in the hell is wrong with you two?" Adam flicked his hair away from his face and likewise flitted his eyes between the two men. "What are you chump-stains doing in here, telling ghost stories?" He imitated the warbling howl of a ghost, wiggling his fingers for some sort of affect, and Matt shoved him.

"Don't you believe in knocking?" Matt snapped. "We could have been fucking or something!" He drew a trembling hand through his wild curls.

"Aw, but maybe I wanted to watch." Adam smirked.

"It isn't funny." Chris righted himself and grabbed the pillow again, readying it for another snap against the hollow thing that was Adam's big head. Adam shrugged off the snippy comment and the poised pillow, and went on.

"Guess what?"

"What?" Matt asked reluctantly.

His nerves and muscles were slowly beginning to uncoil from the slow terror that had built up in him, and then suddenly been exploded out of him like a volcano at the barging in of Adam. The fact that the blond seemed oblivious, or just didn't care about the root of their fright was both annoying and relieving. Questioning them about it would have only made both men even more uncomfortable, and would only do to begin stacking the toppled bits of fear up again on top of one another until they were ready to break into another fit of screaming at nothing. Simply plowing on with his own frivolous 'guess what' served to take the two scared minds off of the previous topic of possibilities and impossibilities. 'Guess what' brought them back to something that could make Chris and Matt but for a while, put their unease on the backburners of their thoughts.

"I sucked Glenn."

Matt couldn't help the giggles that came out of him at that. The trembling soprano voices of his emotions had been pitched so painfully high that this just sent him over the opposite edge. It was like some strange kind of temporary hysteria. Adam quirked a brow at him, and then turned to Chris, who had simply groaned in combination of disgust and irritation at the declaration. Still, there was something under both of those too, because despite the disgruntled groan, Chris was smiling.

"Are you serious?" He smacked Adam with the pillow again, only the blow was less forceful, unpowered by the previous outburst of fear-braided anger.

"I'm serious!" Adam pouted. "How is that so hard for you to believe? There isn't a man or woman who would say 'No' to me. I can convince the most doubtful person into letting me have my way with them, I'm just that damn charming." He flashed a smile that had undoubtedly won Glenn, and many previous others, to Adam's cause and his checklist of names in that little book that he kept. He still thought of that tiny ledger of sexual conquest as a secret, even though everyone close to him knew about it and openly joked about its existence.

"Tell us all about it then." Matt said, finally able to reign in the biggest portion of the popcorn-giggles. "Don't leave anything out."

_Distract us, please Adam, oh please just distract us so we don't have to go back to that sorry mess we were just moments ago._

Matt re-adjusted his position on the bed, and Chris cuddled the pillow close to his chest, propping his chin on it, in preparation for the telling of the tale. If Adam was anything, he was braggadocios, especially on the matter of his sex life. If the right questions were asked by the other two, they could keep the dramatic story going for a good while, and maybe successfully derail the train of their earlier conversation. At least, they could hope to.

Adam spoke of every detail in a way that was full more of excitement and that fog-covered puppy love, than his usual arrogant tone. The vigor of his words and the blush that easily spread across his checks at the most juicy details painted him as something other than Adam The Undefeated Snake and Kitty Charmer. Instead he was a schoolgirl recounting her first time in the back of a car, with her skirt hiked up to her neck, undiscovered territory bared and slowly recorded by the trembling fingers of an adventurous Columbus, charting a map of The New World. There was less gum snapping and only infrequent head bobbles, and when it was finally done with he seemed to be lost in some warm mist, the smile on his face contented rather than smug.

"I pulled the satiny basketball shorts back up, over those creamy, white thighs…" Adam sighed. "I can still taste him in my mouth, that luscious, full cock—mmm." He purred, his teeth raking over his lower lip.

"Alright, I think that's enough for story time." Matt said, patting Adam's leg.

"Nooo, I don't think so!" Adam grinned, looking back and forth from Matt to Chris. "What about you two? Come on, you guys may not have been together long but the deepness of you two is plain for anyone to see. You guys are meant to be together, mark my words. So, tell me stories."

Chris's face pinkened at the thought of sharing such intimacy with Adam. It wasn't as if he hadn't ever proudly bragged about some bouncing in bed himself, it's just that Matt was different. Matt was much, much more than a romp between the sheets and anything that may happen between them would be far too special to unravel to willing ears like a dirty smut-story, shown to eager, flashing eyes, like a stash of secret porn. Not to mention, even if he would have been one to 'kiss and tell' there wasn't that much to tell. Their first attempt at sex had been horribly interrupted, and now Chris found himself back at square one. The cold fang of fear was back, biting deep through flesh, muscle, bone, and soul. He caught Matt's eyes, and the face that had once more drained of its olive-bronzed tone, and he knew Matt was there too.

"What's wrong? You aren't going to tell me? Don't play like you two haven't done anything yet, 'cause that's just funny." Adam shrugged. "Whatever. Listen, just invite me to the wedding, ok? I get to be your best man, right Matt?" Adam nudged Matt, who blinked over at him as if he'd forgotten he was even there.

"Oh, sure Adam." Matt said dully. Adam play punched his arm.

"I better go and leave you two alone though." The blond turned to Chris and gave him a wink. "It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, right? Something like that." He looked a little annoyed when Chris didn't laugh, or snap back at the barb with a spirited 'assclown' comment. Adam rolled off the bed, and shoved his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped. Whatever weird, bad mood had ebbed over Hardy and Jericho had been bled onto him and with a frown he left the two seated in a haze of numbness on the bed. As he closed the door behind him and moved down the hallway to his own room, he could help but shiver at the feeling that some invisible, piercing eyes, were watching him.

~xx~

Adam found himself laying in the dark, tangled up in his covers, long after night had fallen. For some reason sleep refused to take him under, and he just stayed their awake and staring at the black ceiling, his ears picking up every tiny, creaking, sound that the house made. Usually Adam fell asleep quickly and slept deeply, so he'd never had a chance to notice just how creepy this old house was at night. The groaning and tapping and sounds like old bones moving decrepitly had put his senses on that high, sensitive, alert that only the trickle of fear can. He knew it was stupid, but this was just what happened late at night when the mind began to trace strange shadows on the walls.

From under his door a thin veil of light peered in, yellow with its watchful eye. He'd never noticed it being on before, and in fact he knew that Christian hated sleeping with any sort of light on. He was surprised that his brother hadn't gotten up yet to turn the hall light off, which everyone else had decided in an unspoken unanimity to leave on lately. Adam closed his eyes, counting in his head from one hundred back, hoping to lull himself to sleep. It had failed to work in all prior attempts, but that didn't keep him from trying again. His eyes were tired from being so wide awake in the dark, and the curtain of his eyelids pulling closed over the dry orbs was painful and scratchy. It seemed like he could feel each spidery vein popping out and rubbing irritably against the crimson backs of his eyelids.

From somewhere, a floorboard creaked, and the long bony sound made its way to Adam's ears causing him to shiver and pull the covers up over his neck and as close to his chin as possible. The next sound he was sure would send the covers up over his head, as childish as it was, and even though he knew it would do him no good. Anyway, do no good against what? What was he afraid of? It wasn't as if there was truly anything there, it was just the arthritic joints of an old house making themselves known. But still, he really didn't want to open his unsleeping eyes again. Suddenly, he felt bad for scaring Matt and Chris earlier. He wondered then if they weren't just playing some joke on him as revenge.

His eyes came open and he squinted into the darkness around his room. Quietness answered him back, and a stillness that seemed almost just as horrible itself as the whining creaks and unexplained tapping sounds had been. He wanted to whisper into the darkness, a breathy sounding 'whose there' but he knew he would feel too foolish opening his mouth to do so. Instead, he clamped his lips tightly together, and the little puffs of air whooshing and drawing in and out of his flaring nostrils came harder and quicker, as did the following thumps of his heart.

A soft rustling sound seemed deafening in the heavy silence, and with a terror that made his eyes wide and a scream tear up his throat, he saw the sheets at the end of his bed rumple and ripple. Like a bullet from a gun he was up and out of the bed, headed straight for the door. His clamoring hands wrapped around the knob but it turned in his hand. He pushed against the door, all of his weight set on tearing out of that room, and maybe even out of the house, and into the inky night. He was beyond the point of thinking of whether or not it was ridiculous or not, he just wanted out. The knob shook and jangled in his sweaty palms. His face screwed up into a look that might have been cartoonish had the circumstance not been so severe, and he slammed his body against the door. It did nothing, and he leaned against it tired, chest heaving. He glanced down at the spray of light yellow light spilling from under the slit bottom of the door, fanning out in a gentle semi-circle. It was then that he noticed, and what he saw there made his skin crawl over the flesh beneath and sent him in a dead run for the closet. He could think of nowhere else to go, and so he dove in among his shoes and jeans and huddled into the corner of the small space, shutting the door and hugging his knees close to his chest.

He closed his eyes tight, willing away the thing he'd seen marring the bright spill of light over the wood slats of floor, but he couldn't. Twin shadows had fallen dark and gray into the light: someone was standing at the other side of the door. Adam's heart pounded and throttled against his chest, the quick beats like the swift footfalls of a sprinter against a track. He tried to squeeze himself back tighter into the small corner of the closet, hoping to wedge himself there and thus protect himself from whatever was watching, waiting, perhaps entering his room to do terrible, unspeakable things to him. He closed his eyes tight, trying to swallow away the pathetic whimper that threatened to whine over his lips and give away his hiding place. He grabbed at the clothing hanging in the darkness, and the metal hangers tinkled lightly against the rod. He felt the thick cloth of jean in his hand and stuff the cuff into his mouth, biting it and praying that it would absorb the sounds he could barely keep back. He screwed his eyes tightly closed.

In the quietness he could hear the clicking of the door to his room, and the squawk of the hinges as the heavy wood swung on them. For a moment, that was all, and he hoped that maybe he'd imagined it. Time seemed to drag by and the silence seemed like a kind of beacon. It was telling him that it was over now. Adam stirred a little, and let the corner of jeans drop from between his wet lips. He moved forwards on his knees, his hands inching in front of him and stopping at the bottom of the closet door. His breathing was loud in his ears, his chest tight with anxiety, and the question tormented his mind as he tilted his head up and beheld the sight of the doorknob seeming to loom over him. Open it, or stay in the closet all night, taking refuge behind sweatpants and band t-shirts. He reached upwards, nearly convinced that all of this had been some strange half-dream. He must have been laying in bed, just drifting in that weird, numb place between sleep and wakefulness, when he had _thought_ that he'd heard someone at the door. The more he thought of it, hand wrapped tightly around the doorknob, the sillier it seemed. Adam breathed a sigh of relief, and a small, amused, grin curled his lips and his teeth flashed in the darkness. He turned the knob, but hadn't the time to open the door. There were footsteps.

With a shriek he couldn't contain, Adam flew back into the corner, sending pants and shirts and hangers colliding and tangling and falling in a mess of cloth and metal. He wanted to bury himself in the fallen garments, dig a hole through the floor, and burrow into that too. Behind him, the corner of wall he was leaning against seemed to shudder, as if the beams inside were bones, the brick flesh, and the paint over it a thin, cold skin. With another strangled cry Adam fell forwards against the door. The catch was undone from his brave turn of the knob just moments ago, and the door did not hold his sudden weight upon it but swung open and tossed his body against the floor with a thud. Adam remained there too afraid to move, frozen against the cool planks of wood. He was convinced that the feet which belonged to those ghostly footsteps were only inches away from him. If he opened his eyes and dared to look up, the empty, skull-like face of some demonic specter would be peering down on him, black, bony fingers outstretching to pull his screaming, crying, wretched soul from his bones and spirit it away to some hellish underworld.

His sweat covered face was wet and sticky against the floor, and the trickles traced slowly and icily down his spine. His legs trembled, and his stomach and bladder twisted themselves into tight, painful knots. He felt like a man on the edge of the world and if he took just one more breath, it would be enough to plummet him over and into the abyss, never ending, always falling, head over heels over head over heels for an eternity. His fingers twitched, his toes curled up, his teeth chewed at his lip until the blood from the sensitive petals mingled with the sweat and smeared over his chin.

The footsteps began again, both soft and heavy, as if they were naked feet rather than shoed or booted ones, but bearing a heavy weight. They were awkward, never falling in any sort of pattern, as if the owners legs were moving him forwards jerkily. The footfalls became louder, closer, the knowledge of their presence further made known by the shuddering of the floor as they came closer. Adam could do nothing but remain frozen and shivering, shredding his lip, closing his eyes so tightly that firework colors exploded against the backs of them.

The sound and vibrations stopped and he knew the thing was in front of him. He could hear breathing that was not his own, and he could _feel_ the strange thing without having his eyes open to see it. Panic paralyzed him, his mind sped, racing, screaming at his immobile body that he must move, must run, must get the fuck away before the thing touched him, because then he really would be dead. He couldn't take the thought of some rotten, death-chilled fingers sliding over his skin. His eyes flew open, coming to focus on feet that poked out from the darkness. The toes were only inches from his nose, covered in the dirty gray of socks, the stitching at the toes the color of blood, in one end was a hole, and Adam just knew that if he stayed there a moment longer a bony, elongated, toe was going to uncurl from the ghastly hole and stab out his eyes. With a sob he scrambled to his feet, suddenly able to move and quickly, and bolted for the door without setting his eyes again on the thing. He wanted to see no more of it, he only wanted to be gone from it, since it seemed as though that's the way it would have to be, because it apparently did not want to be gone away from him.

He yanked the door open and thundered down the lit hallway, skidding outside the bathroom at the end to a near crash into the wall. At the last second he managed to avoid it and tossed himself into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind him, locking it, and leaning against it in a trembling mess. His legs only held him up against the door for a few moments before giving out and buckling at the knees, sliding him down into a sitting position. After a moment or two of sitting there, resting up against the door, he felt the need to move. The image of some long bones snaking out of that hole—that hole like the black pupil of a crazy eye—in that sock and scratching under the door to poke at his back had him up on his feet again. He looked down at the crack of light under the door, so afraid of seeing anything else there. With a little whimper he reached for the light switch, and the small bathroom was aglow in a comforting light.

He quickly stripped of his clothes, letting them pile onto the worn tiles, and didn't dare to look at his face in the mirror. He was horrified at what he might see reflected there, the image of his own wild eyes and waxy face, or worse, the image of whatever that thing had been in his room. He inched back the shower curtain and peered around it, letting out a trembling sigh of relief when he found nothing there. Adam stepped into the bathtub and turned the shower on cold, and curled up under the raining head, begging it to wash the stench of fear away from him.

~xxx~


End file.
